Secrets, Scouts and Supposedly(s)
by LittleRaichu
Summary: Delia and Patsy are supposed to be having dinner with Mrs Busby. Trixie and Barbara are supposed to be going to the cinema. They are NOT supposed to be at the same place at the same time.
1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure you two won't join us?" asked Trixie.

Delia looked to Patsy who shook her head with a smirk; "can't I'm afraid, we promised Delia's mother we would meet her for dinner."

Delia stifled a snigger, "yes, I'm afraid a night with Gregory Peck is no match for a roast dinner with a side of discomfort."

Barbara placed a hand on Delia's arm sympathetically, "is your mother still having a hard time with you working in London?"

Delia sighed, "why would I want the smog of London when I could have the green hills of home?"

Trixie gazed at her friends through the mirror, then applied lipstick and kissed her reflection. "I for one am thankful to be in this vibrant city; the dancing, the men, the..." Trixie frowned, "well at least I would be if any of my friends would join me!"

Trixie pointedly stared at Delia and Barbara, pausing in turn. Finally her gaze rested on Patsy, the red-head laughed and exclaimed "Honestly Trix, it's like living in a nunnery!"

Delia and Barbara were highly amused. Trixie narrowed her eyes like a gunman in a shoot-out.

Barbara, realising that Trixie did not quite see the humour, shifted nervously. "Sorry Trixie, it's just not really my thing."

Trixie laughed, a little too late, thought Barbara.

"Really?" asked Trixie, "does Tom know?" She roared joyously, joined Barbara's arm with hers and sauntered out of the room, oblivious to the blushing faces of Patsy and Delia.

"Have fun girls!" Trixie called from the stairs.

Delia and Patsy stared at each other, suppressing a laugh. Then, from the bottom of the stairs an inquisitive Barbara asked "does Tom know _what_?"

Delia and Barbara fell into each other's arms, laughing like children. "Oh poor Barbara, so innocent" remarked Patsy.

"Or incredibly intelligent?" asked Delia, "resisting the temptation of dancing and men and dancing _with_ men on the grounds of naivety and religion?"

Patsy raised an eyebrow, "it's a nun's life for us then Deils." Delia placed her arm around the taller woman and nuzzled into her chest.

"Oh please Patience Mount, the only habit you have is one for cute Welsh girls."

Patsy kissed the top of Delia's head, "a filthy habit but one I'm resigned to."

Delia tried to suppress a laugh, "cheeky" she said, and met Patsy's lips with her own.


	2. Chapter 2

Barbara and Trixie sat on a bus en route to the picture theatre. Barbara adored the cinema, the pure spectacle of it. Cinema-going in her younger years had been to films with religious undertones and although To Kill a Mockingbird was not religious per se, she still appreciated the morality and tolerance in it's message.

"Have you read the book, Trixie?" asked Barbara.

"Oh no, sweetie, it's too heavy for me. I like a good romance. I swear whenever Rock Hudson looks at Doris Day he's really looking at me."

Barbara smiled then realised her manners. "If you like, we can see another film, a romance or musical perhaps?"

Trixie placed both hands on Barbara's shoulders, "there you go again, trying too hard to please others. No, Gregory Peck will please me just fine, thank you very much."

"Are you sure?" asked Barbara.

"I'm sure," said Trixie, "besides you've been talking about that blasted book for months. Perhaps on our next outing we can do something more _my thing_ , as you put it."

Barbara blushed, she knew she was quite enthusiastic about the book but was mortified that she may have lingered on the verge of annoyance. "I promise to go out dancing with you to make up for it," she said, hoping to atone.

Trixie clapped her hands excitedly, "I'll hold you to that Nurse Gilbert. And remember it's a sin to swear falsehoods."

Barbara sighed, "yes, quite."

Barbara stared out the window, wondering what mess she would soon be in. She hated dances and bars, she didn't see the point in socialising when the atmosphere was too loud and chaotic to socialise in.

"Now," said Trixie, breaking Barbara's thoughts, "this movie, it's about Scouts, isn't it?"

It was only then that Barbara realised that despite her apparent non-stop talking about the novel, Trixie was never really listening. Barbara smirked and wondered whether failing to listen was worse a sin than failing to fulfil a promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Delia and Patsy had changed from their earlier conservative outfits. It had been Patsy's idea to dress down for their lie. It was a very rare occurrence that all four nurses had shared a night off. Patsy was sure that if Trixie knew that she and Delia would be out dancing, she would insist on tagging along and dragging poor Barbara with her. Their night of normalcy and slow dancing to a world without judgement would be ruined. Instead she would be sitting across from Delia at a crowded table in some god forsaken bar, mentally accosting any man who so much as looked in Delia's direction. Plus Patsy knew that Delia would be devastated. Delia had been looking forward to this night for weeks, she had even planned her outfit of a spotty white dress and electric blue cardigan a fortnight in advance. She looked splendid in it too, thought Patsy. Splendid and mine. Still she thought, perhaps using Delia's mother as a diversion was going too far.

"I should have thought of a different lie," said Patsy as she and Delia walked the cobblestoned street. "Could you imagine what your mother would say if she found out? Instead of having a roast dinner..."

"You're having her daughter?" interrupted Delia.

Patsy stopped in her tracks, aghast at the words that came from the small Welsh woman. "Delia Busby!" she exclaimed, "I can't believe you kiss me with that mouth!"

Delia turned and faced her girlfriend, "amongst other things," she laughed and ran ahead.

"I most certainly do not want to know what your mother have to say about _that_!" Patsy yelled as she caught up to Delia.


	4. Chapter 4

Barbara and Trixie stepped off the bus and into view of cinema lights. Trixie looked to Barbara, noticing her hesitance. "Well," she said, taking Barbara's arm in hers, "shall we?"

Barbara looked crestfallen and didn't move.

"Sweetie, what on earth is wrong? Asked Trixie. "You have that same look on your face when you realise Sister Monica Joan has consumed all the cake."

Barbara pointed to the cinema, "look." Trixie followed Barbara's direction. "Oh", she said, trying to suppress her relief. The cinema sign read 'To Kill a Mockingbird – Sold out.'

Barbara slumped forward, shuffled to a nearby bench and sat. Trixie joined her. "I guess I didn't anticipate it's popularity" she said, at last. Trixie tapped her on the knee. "You wait here. If I can't get you Gregory Peck, I'll at least get you some sweets." Trixie entered the cinema, making way to the confectionery stand.

Barbara looked to the people lined up, ticket in hand. It was not like Barbara to get jealous, particularly over something so trivial. Usually she had the decorum of a saint, wanting for nothing and giving all she could afford. But she had so looked forward to the film, never had a book captivated her so much. She could relate to Scout's youthful enthusiasm, seeing nothing but the good in others. She respected Atticus' values; he very much reminded her of her own father. A man of conviction and principles. And truth be told, she could even relate to Boo Radley. She too had felt misunderstood. A woman her age should enjoy dancing, socialising and courting. Other women had made her feel ashamed for not being so confident in affairs of the heart. Though she had enjoyed courting Tom; it was new and thrilling, much of the expectations placed upon her was terrifying. She was glad she had Trixie and the other nurses at Nonnatus House. Although she was sure they had at one point thought her immature and naive; it was through their support and friendship that she had flourished. Barbara made up her mind to simply enjoy the night with Trixie. She could see the film another night. Besides, Trixie wasn't upset with her about dating Tom, Barbara had no right to feel upset about missing a silly film.

Trixie returned, beaming at Barbara, her hands behind her back. "So I have some marvellous news, and news a little more unsavoury. Which shall you like to hear first?"

Barbara looked to Trixie curiously. "I think I shall like to hear the good news first."

"The good news is, I got us tickets to a showing in two hours."

Barbara's eyes widened in delight. "Oh Trixie, that really is marvellous, I was afraid I had rather missed out."

"The bad news is," Trixie continued, "they only had vanilla flavoured ice cream." From behind her, Trixie revealed two ice cream cones and handed one to Barbara.

"Oh, I don't mind at all, vanilla is my favourite," said Barbara, eyeing her ice cream..

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" stated Trixie, taking a bite. "Oh and also, we will be passing the time by having a quick dance. I know a spot not far from here."

Barbara ceased enjoying the ice cream. "Right. I didn't expect to have to fulfil the promise so soon."

"Well I told you I had _bad_ news," laughed Trixie. "Now come on, it's a short walk from here; fabulous music and dishing men!"

xxx

Patsy was considering taking off her heels; she wasn't sure whether she could make the rest of the journey to Gateways without wincing in pain. She looked to Delia, storming ahead, eager to enter a world of her own.

"Deils, slow down a little." Delia turned to a struggling Patsy and smiled.

"Oh poor Pats," said Delia, walking to her. "There's no shame in wearing sensible shoes, I hear they're all the rage at Gateways."

"That's quite enough, thank you", said Patsy, kneeling to remove her heels and rub her feet.

"No one will suspect you on the basis of comfortable shoes, Pats. You are a nurse after all."

Delia paused, noticing the sadness in Patsy's eyes as she looked up at her.

"It's your fondness for check shirts that give you away," said Delia, trying to make Patsy laugh.

Patsy stood, heels in hand.

"And lack of humour," Delia continued.

Patsy frowned. "Oh I'm joking love. Show me your beautiful smile" asked Delia, reaching to grab Patsy's hand in reassurance.

"Do you really think I'm ashamed?" Patsy asked, pressing Delia's hand with her own.

Delia furrowed her brow, "no love, not of us."

"But of what _we are_?" asked Patsy, solemnly.

Delia smiled briefly and placed her spare hand over Patsy's.

"It's hard not to believe what society asks us to" said Delia.

"And do you? Do you really believe we're bad people?"

Delia shook her head. "No. Someone as brave and kind and strong and loving as you could never be bad. The world will see that one day."

Patsy kissed Delia then traced the outline of her mouth with her fingers. "I only wish the world could see what I'm seeing now. They'd know resistance is futile in the face of someone you can't help but love."

Delia smiled. "Now come on Pat, you owe me a dance."

Delia and Patsy walked ahead, Patsy had decided to walk without heels after all.

Delia put her arm around Patsy. "You don't mind if I call you Pat, Pat? It just seems fitting, seeing as women's shoes are clearly not your thing."

Patsy pushed her away playfully then leant down to put her heels back on. "You'll pay for that when I trod on your toes."

xxx

"Is it much further?" asked Barbara, "at this rate we won't be back in time for the film."

"Nonsense" said Trixie, hurrying Barbara along, "it's not far from here. Stop trying to get out of your promise. I know your game Miss Gilbert!"

"Very well," muffled Barbara.

Barbara looked to the distance, hoping to sight the 'fabulous little bar' Trixie had sought. She stopped abruptly, causing Trixie to stumble.

"You are in such a state tonight Barbara, we won't miss the film, I assure you."

Barbara ignored her, focused on a couple in the distance.

"Is that Patsy and Delia ahead?" she asked.

Trixie looked at Barbara as if the woman had finally gone mad. Then she looked to the distance, squinting her eyes.

She spotted a tall red-headed woman, kneeling down with a short brunette beside her. Though they were some distance ahead, she could see that both were dressed to impress.

"It couldn't possibly be, they're at dinner with Mrs Busby. Looking not so fabulous I might add."

Barbara and Trixie walked closer.

"It _is_ them", whispered Barbara, "I recognise Patsy's green coat."

"I'm sure it's just another tall red-head with a green coat," said Trixie, reassuring herself.

"Accompanied by a small brunette woman wearing Delia's favourite blue cardigan" added Barbara.

Trixie stopped and watched as Delia and Patsy walked further away; Delia walking briskly and Patsy struggling to keep up.

"But why would they say they're having dinner with Mrs Busby when they clearly aren't?" asked Trixie, upset.

Barbara placed her hand on Trixie's shoulder.

"I wouldn't read too much into it, Trix. Mrs Busby probably cancelled and so they decided to make a night of it."

Trixie crossed her arms.

"No that's not it."

Trixie paused.

"Trix, I'm sure whatever you're thinking, it's wrong. Remember when you accused Patsy of trying to steal Tom? It turned out she was teaching him to dance – so he could impress _you_."

Trixie turned to Barbara."If I recall, I also accused you and look how that turned out."

Barbara looked down, embarrassed and upset.

"I'm sorry Barbara, I didn't mean that. I'm just hurt that they so obviously wish to exclude me from their fun."

Trixie stared ahead, lost in thought. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. Trixie looked to Barbara, quizzically.

"Unless..." Trixie trailed off, thinking.

"Unless what?" asked Barbara.

Trixie grabbed Barbara's arm and motioned the brunette forward.

"Come on, let's follow."


	5. Chapter 5

Delia could see The Gateways Club ahead, she increased her pace in excitement. It was an inconspicuous building, rather residential looking, with no hint of the frivolity inside. The only sign that the building enjoyed frequent company were the figures lingering outside, waiting for friends, enjoying a cigarette, or huddling in the cold.

"Hurry up Pats!" called Delia.

"I couldn't possibly be any faster Deils!" yelled Patsy.

Waiting for Patsy had caused Delia to once again recognise the brutality of the brisk London air. She cupped her hands together and breathed into them. It was unfortunate that mittens did not coordinate with her outfit, she thought.

Patsy, at last, caught up to her.

"Why in such a hurry? The club isn't going anywhere" said Patsy, smiling.

Delia held Patsy's hand and motioned her forward. "I know", she said, "but if getting there one minute sooner means one more minute dancing with you, I'll take it."

Patsy squeezed Delia's hand before spotting two women smoking outside the club. She scrunched her face, looking to Delia in hope.

"Just one cigarette?" Patsy asked, "I'll be quick. _And_ you owe me for your constant teasing earlier."

Delia groaned, "I tell you what. If this is your last, I will condone it."

"Last?" Patsy paused. "Ever?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Delia, pressing a finger into Patsy's side. "You promised me you'd give it up. It's very unbecoming."

"I'll consider it."

Delia glared at her and crossed her arms.

" _Annnd_ consider it done" said Patsy, groaning. "Now what was that other nasty habit I needed to forgo?"

She looked to Delia, "something about cute Welsh girls?"

Delia pushed Patsy's side playfully, "you wouldn't dare!"

Patsy took hold of Delia from behind and wrapped her arms around Delia's hips, sure she was amongst like minded company. "You're my only vice and one I intend to keep" she whispered into Delia's ear.

"And I intend to _keep you. As long as I can._ So after this, no more cigarettes. Promise?" asked Delia, snuggled in the arms of the taller woman. "Promise" said Patsy, releasing her girlfriend.

Patsy rummaged through her handbag, took out a packet of cigarettes and placed one into her mouth. She looked to Delia, noting there were still several cigarettes left. "Surely, though, you mean last packet?" she said, cigarette dangling.

Delia looked away, in feigned annoyance.

"Come on" said Patsy, taking the cigarette out of her mouth, "show me that beautiful smile."

Delia turned her back, clearly suppressing a smile. Patsy rummaged further through her bag. "Blast", she said, "I'm positive I put some matches in here."

Delia giggled and turned to Patsy, sheepishly. "You're an absolute devil!" said Patsy.

"But one you intend to keep."

Patsy looked to the two women smoking, hesitant to ask for a light. Both were the older masculine type. Patsy had seen their likes in Gateways before. Wearing dapper suits, tailored to their lanky bodies, hair slicked back in the style worn by men in the 1920s. Although Patsy was not attracted to their 'type', she had admired their boldness, their unwillingness to be anyone but themselves.

Patsy smiled as they noted her. Delia noted their comfortable shoes.

Patsy took initiative and walked toward them, Delia followed behind.

Xxx

Trixie and Barbara were in detective mode. Their coat collars stood stiffly in a lame attempt at concealing their faces. They approached the corner of the street with trepidation. Trixie peered around the corner, then turned to Barbara.

"I can see them," she said, "they've stopped in front of some building."

"Trixie, I don't feel right about this" complained Barbara.

"We are not doing anything wrong" explained Trixie.

"Spying on your friends? There's a distinct possibility that's frowned upon" said Barbara.

"We are not _spying_ ," said Trixie, harshly. "Those two are clearly hiding something. Perhaps something dangerous. I'm concerned for them, that's all."

Barbara crossed her arms.

"Trixie Franklin, it is one thing to spy on your friends, but a completely different matter to insinuate heroism on your part. This is nothing but snooping into matters that are none of our business. Just leave them be."

Trixie looked to Barbara is shock, she had never heard such a stern tone from her timid friend. She took a moment to reflect. Perhaps it was none of her business, but why the secrets?

Trixie had been a good friend to Patsy; she had even confessed to her an alcohol addiction. If Patsy was hiding something, surely she could trust her? Still, she thought, perhaps she had confided in Delia instead and that's why their bond was so close. Trixie felt a sudden pain of jealousy. Then, she thought, if Patsy had told Delia, who else has she told? Trixie contemplated, then gasped.

"You know something!" exclaimed Trixie, "tell me everything!"

Barbara put her hands up in defence.

"I know nothing, I assure you."

At any other time, on any other day, Trixie would have laughed and said 'yes, we are all aware of that, thankyou Barbara' but she was not in the mood for foolery. Instead she sighed and peered around the corner once more. Suddenly, her hand reached back, clasping Barbara's arm.

"I _knew_ it!" she exclaimed loudly, before covering her mouth and retreating.

Barbara looked at Trixie, concerned, then gingerly peeped toward the edge of the building. Trixie peered over her shoulder. Together they saw Patsy and Delia talking in the intimate surrounds of two dapper figures. Patsy placed her hand on the taller one, laughing as she blew cigarette smoke in the air. Delia looked on, her smile was so wide Trixie was sure she had never seen her so happy.

Barbara and Trixie turned away and braced themselves against the cloak of the building.

"I'm sure it's nothing" said Barbara.

"Oh please. They're canoodling with gentlemen! Upper class gentlemen at that." Trixie paused, seething. "Dinner with Mrs Busby, what rot! Sophisticated Patsy is clearly ashamed of us. Of _me_!"

Trixie paused, solemnly. " _I'm_ sophisticated," she protested, trying to reassure herself. "I dial the phone with a pencil!"

Barbara placed her hands on Trixie's shoulders. "They could be friends," she said slowly.

"Well," said Trixie, stepping back, "remind me to dress like that", she pointed in the direction of the giddy lovers, "the next time I greet Fred in the garden with a cup of tea!"

Trixie watched Delia, Patsy and their dapper companions enter the non-descript building. She followed in their direction.

"Come on," she growled, "we're going in."


	6. Chapter 6

Patsy thanked the handsome woman as she opened the door to let the couple through.

The room was alive with music, laughter, dancing, flirting. Patsy held Delia's hand behind her as she walked the length of the room.

They walked by admiring suitors and flirting couples of all kinds. _Gateways_ , it seems, was as diverse in clientele as any other club. There were women who adopted the same tailored suiting as their new friends. Young women, not unlike Barbara or Trixie, who blushed as their eyes met across the bar. There were older couples, clearly still in love, comfortable in their silences.

Patsy smiled nostalgically, admiring one such couple as they sat drinking their cocktail and beer. Their hands held above the table. One of the women, with short cropped silver hair, smiled back at Patsy. Patsy watched as the woman's eyes moved along the length of Patsy's hand; she was still holding Delia close. Delia was oblivious, too consumed in her surrounds. The woman looked back to Patsy and nodded, as if to say _'we're both incredibly lucky. Aren't we?'_ Patsy nodded back in silent agreement.

Patsy searched the room and spotted a vacant booth. She led Delia in it's direction. Glancing around as Patsy pulled her along, Delia noticed a young girl in a crisp white shirt, denim jeans and leather jacket. The young girl leaned into a blushing lady in floral and whispered in her ear. Delia looked her up and down, a little too long, thought Patsy as she caught her staring.

They sat at the booth. Delia continued to gaze over the room. She had been to Gateways on several occasions, yet she was still astounded at the open affection displayed.

Patsy sat back and watched Delia as her eyes drifted back to the leather clad woman. She was not butch, yet certainly not feminine, a tom-boy but with a bravado and confidence that Delia couldn't even comprehend. It was certainly working on the blushing lady, thought Delia.

Delia looked to Patsy; disapproval cemented on her girlfriend's face. " _What?_ " she asked.

"You know _what_. You're here with _me_ , remember?" stated Patsy, feigning jealousy.

Delia laughed. "Naww, Pats. I was admiring her outfit, honest."

Patsy scoffed, "as long as you don't admire her out of it."

Patsy looked the girl up and down. "Is she really your type?" she asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

Delia snuggled closer to her girlfriend. "You know my type. Tall red-heads with enormous blue eyes." Patsy smiled at her. "Although," Delia continued, "I wouldn't mind seeing you in that jacket."

Patsy took a moment to appreciate the attire. She glanced back at Delia.

Delia bit her bottom lip. "Just the jacket", she whispered, her voice husky.

Patsy's eyes widened. She kissed Delia briefly to distract from the red rising in her cheeks.

"What has come over you tonight Delia?" asked Patsy, pulling away, still in disbelief.

"Sorry, Pats", Delia's face matched the red of her girlfriends. "I'm making up for all the times I've had to bite my tongue."

They stared at each other in recognition of all their sacrifices.

"And I'm not going to make any remarks about tongues" said Delia, breaking the tension.

Patsy laughed. "Well", she said, ignoring the innuendo, "I do believe we came here to dance."

Patsy stood, held out her hand and led Delia to the dance floor. They held each other closely, their eyes lost in each other. _'I can't stop loving you'_ filled the room.

It was true, thought Patsy, as she mouthed the lyrics to her lover: _'I can't stop loving you, I've made up my mind...'_

Delia's eyes welled, she leaned into Patsy and rested her head on the taller woman's chest. They moved slowly to the music; eyes closed, mouths smiling.


	7. Chapter 7

Trixie marched to the front door of _The Gateways Club,_ ready to burst through. She felt a hard tug at her shoulder as Barbara held her back.

"Trixie," warned Barbara, hand still on shoulder, "it's not too late. You don't have to do this!"

Barbara noticed two women, each with cigarette in hand, leaning against the side of the building. Both wore their hair down, adorned in winter coats, their pretty dresses peaking through the opening. It looked as though they had coordinated their outfits. The only distinction between them was their hair; one a brunette, one platinum blonde.

The women stopped their friendly conversation and watched the drama unfolding before them. Barbara moved from the door, cowering to the side.

"We could just go to the movie," she said, her voice quieter. "It will give you time to calm yourself. And, if you like, you can raise the issue with Patsy when she comes home."

Barbara waited for a response. Trixie's steely stare lasered through her.

"Doesn't that sound like a more sensible idea?" Barbara asked, hopeful.

Barbara looked to the two women, still watching. She smiled apologetically. She didn't know why, she had nothing to apologise for.

Trixie did not share the same need to be quiet. She was so angry she did not care if the two women or anyone else knew of it. " _A sensible idea!?_ " she yelled. It was louder than she intended but she could not contain herself.

Barbara lowered her head, aware of the eyes upon her.

"A sensible idea," Trixie continued, harsh but slowly, "is when someone you care about dearly, someone you _love_ , tells you you she's _seeing someone!_ "

"I'm gonna need another cigarette" said the brunette, watching, bracing the wall.

Trixie ignored the audience. "For months now Barbara, I've pretended to be asleep every time she crept in late. Dishevelled. Clothes askew. I figured she had simply worked late, had a hard shift."

Trixie paused .

"But now I _know_ ," Trixie breathed, almost crying. Barbara stepped closer in an attempt to comfort her but stopped as Trixie put her hands up and stepped away.

"Oh poor dear," said the blonde. The brunette nodded in agreement, "we've all been there."

Trixie turned and walked toward the door. The blonde woman stood straight and steadied herself as Trixie walked toward her.

Trixie placed her hand against the door, but stopped when the blonde called to her.

"You tell her exactly how you feel, love" she said, eyes sympathetic. "Yeah," said the brunette, "you deserve better."

 _I do deserve better_ , thought Trixie. After all she confided, after all she had helped Patsy through and yet she still couldn't reveal that she had a gentleman friend. Trixie had thought them best friends, but perhaps they were merely two people who shared a room. She suddenly blushed, embarrassed at her misunderstanding.

"Go on then" encouraged the brunette.

Trixie neither nodded in solidarity, nor told them to mind her own business. The latter, a good suggestion, thought Barbara. Trixie simply swished dramatically and stepped inside.

Barbara stared at the door, conflicted.

The two women dropped their cigarettes to the ground, twisted the flame against the heel of their shoes and opened the door. "Coming in?" asked the blonde, holding the door as Barbara braced herself and stepped inside.

Xxx

Trixie first noted how crowded the club was. She feared it would be impossible to confront her two former friends. They were very likely huddled in the corner, hands all over their 'gentlemen.' Trixie scoffed at the word.

Trixie walked a few steps, scanning the room for a tall red-head, paying close attention to darkened corners. It must be ladies night, she thought, noticing a number of women, sitting at tables, talking to each other.

Then, in the distance, Trixie spotted the two tall figures in tailored suits, hair slicked back. Her eyes shifted. But no sign of Patsy and Delia. Still, she thought, at least if she approached the men, the two scoundrels wouldn't be far away. _Oh the look on their smug faces_ , thought Trixie gleefully, as she made a beeline to the men.

Xxx

Barbara could not see Trixie anywhere and that worried her. She was alone, in a bar and soon there would be a scene. Trixie was very good at making a scene, remembered Barbara. She thought back to Trixie's passive aggressive, and then, just downright aggressive treatment of her when Trixie had thought, rightly, that she and Tom were interested in each other.

"Oh boy", she sighed.

"You lost your friend?" she heard a voice say. Barbara turned to her side, and there at the bar, sat the blonde woman from outside. "Yes," she acknowledged, "I'm afraid I'm the least of her concerns."

The blonde patted the seat next to her and motioned Barbara to join.

"She did seem to be a woman on a mission", said the woman as Barbara shifted herself on the seat. Barbara looked at her closely, she was very pretty, with just the right amount of make-up. She had kind eyes too thought Barbara, suddenly ashamed of her negative thoughts earlier.

"Yes," said Barbara, at last, "I really should go and find her before..." Barbara trailed, she was really unsure of what would happen, truth be told.

"Fiery one is she?" laughed the blonde. Barbara didn't answer. Nervous now, she felt obliged to stay and make polite conversation.

"I'm Lara by the way" said the blonde, holding out her hand. "I'm Barbara", she smiled and shook the blondes hand.

Xxx

Trixie approached the men with a steely resolve; she would be bolder and tougher than they would ever be.

She noticed, however, as she stood inches from them, that they were much more slight than she expected. Muscle men were clearly not Patsy and Delia's type, she thought.

It was only once she made eye contact that Trixie realised that she didn't quite know what to say. She knew what she would say, _well yell_ , to Patsy sure, but these men she had no words for.

"You alright, love?" said the shorter of the two, looking at Trixie concerned. His voice broke Trixie's thoughts, it was much... _lighter_ than she expected. Still, she thought, _modern times_. Just as there were women of all shapes and sizes, there too were men of odd shapes and odd... voices. She looked to the other man, his brow tense in confusion, his cheek bones high and delicate.

"Ah, yes" Trixie stumbled, "I believe you are _acquainted_ with two friends of mine." She had meant to be firm, but she suddenly felt uneasy. She searched their faces, unsure of why she found them so intriguing, so different.

Xxx

"So I take it you've lost your friend too?" asked Barbara.

"My friend?" asked Lara.

"The brunette... from outside" Barbara reminded her.

"Oh yes, we barely know each other to be honest. Just a friend of mine thought we'd get along. I can see why, we both have similar taste in clothing. Obviously."

Barbara laughed.

"And movies", Lara continued, "but we're also so different, you know?"

Barbara nodded. "Yes. Still, having similar interests is an important start. Actually Trixie and I, Trixie's my friend from earlier, we were supposed to see a film tonight, but it sold out. And then, well..."

"And then a whole other drama unfolded before your eyes."

Barbara laughed, so far the whole bar experience hadn't been so horrible, she surmised.

"What was the film you were going to see?" asked Lara.

"To Kill a Mockingbird."

Lara braced her chest in excitement, "oh I just adored the book!" she squealed.

Barbara squealed too, then she quickly covered her mouth, shocked that such a sound could come from her tiny frame.

Xxx

Trixie patiently described Patsy and Delia to the two gentleman. She could not fathom why boyfriends would require a detailed portrait of their girlfriends to jog their memory. She narrowed her eyes at them, surmising that they had too many girlfriends to keep track of. She knew their type, suave and sleazy, making up for what they lacked in masculinity by being complete and utter hounds. Trixie failed to see what such beautiful and sensible girls like Patsy and Delia could see in these boys. She made a mental note to tell them that too, whilst she berated them for lack of loyalty.

"Well come on," Trixie said, impatient, "you must know them. I saw you _flirting_ outside."

The taller man laughed knowingly. He turned to his shorter companion, "she means the cute girls who asked for a match, love." Trixie detested his use of 'cute girls.' She was sure that's how he referred to all women, as simply nice things to look at.

Trixie paused and contemplated his other phrasing. 'Love?' she thought. But before she could make sense of it, the shorter man pointed to the dance floor. "They're over there", he said, " _flirting_."

Trixie turned to the back of the room. It swelled with dancing couples. Some women embraced similarly dapper but svelte looking gentleman. Their embrace was entirely inappropriate for a Rock 'N' Roll song, she thought.

Trixie then noticed that some women were dancing with _each other_. That's fine, thought Trixie, she and Patsy had also danced together once. Albeit not so comfortably. And those women certainly did seem very... _comfortable._

Trixie averted her gaze, not wanting to stare. She walked onto the dance floor, her head spinning. She had only looked around for a second when she saw them.

"Patsy and Delia" she mouthed to herself, taking another step toward them.

They were dancing, just as she had done with Patsy, at a respectable distance, laughing and moving in time to the upbeat song. It looked purely innocent, like two friends enjoying a night of freedom.

The song ended. Laughter and conversation filled the room. Trixie was about to call out to them, but stopped when she noticed Delia step an inch closer to Patsy. Patsy reached down and grazed Delia's cheek with the back of her hand, lovingly.

And then it hit her: the abundance of women, the 'men' with high cheek bones and fine features, women dancing together. This was not _ladies_ _night_... well it was ladies night but for a very specific _kind_ of lady.

Trixie glanced over the room once more. It was clear that the other women dancing together were not merely friends. There was a deep intimacy surrounding them. She scanned further. Women leaned their buxom sweethearts against walls, couples giggled over shared drinks, women held hands above tables. She had been so caught up in her own sense of injustice that she had been oblivious to her surrounds. _To the truth_. Until now.

Trixie turned back to her two friends. She stood dumb struck as Patsy shared a slow, longing kiss with Delia.

Trixie gasped, loudly.

Delia broke away, her eyes searched for the source of the sound.

Delia's gasp came equally as loud.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" asked Patsy as she turned to see Trixie, mouth open.

Patsy, like Trixie and Delia before her, gasped. Hers perhaps the loudest of all.

All three women stood with the same expression, like plastic moving clowns at a Carnie stand.

Patsy distanced herself from Delia as delicately as she could. She stuttered, unable to get her words out. She was about to speak an actual human sentence when she saw Barbara approach.

"Oh there you all are," Barbara greeted them, excitedly. It was a fake attempt to diffuse any uncomfortable stand off she had likely entered into. Her smile, however, wavered when she saw the same look of absolute shock shared amongst her friends.

"So," Barbara continued, "We've missed the film..."

Her friends continued to stare at each other, unmoving.

Barbara shifted uncomfortably. "Knew we wouldn't make it. Should have called it _'To Kill A Moping Bird.'_

She paused. "And by bird, I mean Trixie."

Nothing.

Barbara laughed, forced and uncomfortable. "Am I right?" she asked, with a broken voice.

 **To be continued**


	8. Chapter 8

Delia and Barbara sat on the bus. Quick thinking, perfect in a crisis Delia, had managed to get Barbara out the door before she realised, that she had in fact, shared a drink with a lovely lesbian in a gay bar.

"Let me take you home, Barbara" Delia had commanded, tone masking the absolute panic she felt inside. "I'm sure Patsy and Trixie would like to speak somewhere perhaps _a little more private_." She had given Trixie a stern, knowing look and squeezed Patsy's arm as she quickly led Barbara to the exit. Patsy had been too struck by fear to protest Delia's gesture. Words and actions failed her.

Barbara, in her politeness, was sure to say goodbye to Lara. Barbara had failed to see the disappointment in the blonde's eyes as she sauntered out, arm in arm, with the cute Welsh brunette. Delia, however, had noticed. It had provided a brief moment of relief from her rising fear. If only the blonde had also heard her say 'l _et me take you home, Barbara_ ,' she thought.

But that moment had passed. Sitting next to Barbara in a near empty bus had caused Delia's anxiety to increase once more. She sighed and watched the rain soaked streets from the back of the bus. It would be at least forty minutes until they reached Nonnatus house.

Delia wondered whether she should confront Barbara and ask why the hell they had followed her. But no, she thought, that would lead to further questions she wasn't sure she could answer.

Barbara fidgeted in her seat. The warmth from Delia, as they sat next to each other, only served to remind her that she had invaded her friend's space. Figuratively and now physically. She shifted closer to the edge of the seat, feeling the harsh breeze on her legs.

Barbara and Delia looked to each other and smiled – Barbara awkwardly, Delia with a hint of emotion that Barbara couldn't quite decipher. Anger? Embarrassment?

Uncomfortable with the eye contact, both women diverted their gaze. Both searching for words but unable to find them.

Barbara sighed. She wondered whether she should confront Delia and ask why she had been keeping secrets, why she failed to trust in their friendship. She too had a gentleman friend, they could have swapped stories, ventured on double dates even. Barbara had found the concept of 'couple dating' rather exotic – unaware the term 'couple dating' had more than one meaning. But no, she thought, that would lead to further questions she wasn't sure she could answer.

Delia could see Barbara's reflection in the bus window. Between the quiet sighs and picking at her woollen stockings, Barbara made brief glances toward her, mouth opening slightly, then closing again. The poor dear desperately wanted to talk about what had transpired, thought Delia. Her stomach turned. She wasn't sure whether there would be an apology or confrontation. She was sure, however, that she wouldn't dare risk finding out.

Delia took a moment to think rationally. Though she was sure that Barbara had been unware of her surroundings, she also sure that Barbara could sense that something was amiss. Barbara was naïve but not stupid. Surely, though, she was polite enough to avoid the goings on of the night? She was a Catholic girl after all.

Delia needed a distraction.

She was well practised at avoiding delicate conversations. She had years of practice. Christmas with the extended Busby family was a nightmare of pronouns and forced smiles as her Mam reassured relatives that Delia was a career girl, simply working too hard to settle down. If ever a conversation risked veering toward her personal life ( _When will you start a family? Any nice Doctors?_ ) Delia would pretend to be so invested in the mundane, everyday life of others to warrant mention of herself. Nursing and London was nothing compared to small town antics. Delia was convincing too, nodding in feigned interest to talk of the latest sponge recipe or the beauty of the Welsh language. Asking all the questions any good, social, _normal_ girl would ask of good, social, normal women. _And how exactly do you get the sponge to be so fluffy? Seen any good films lately?_

And it was with this reminiscing that Delia thought of how she could steer Barbara away from any incrimination.

She laughed. Suddenly. Convincingly. Just as she had learnt over decades of awkward Christmas dinners.

Barbara looked at her, concerned it was the kind of hysterical laughing people did when they were incredibly upset. 'The vapours' her Dad had called it.

"I'm sorry," said Delia, placing her hand on her mouth, in a mock effort to keep her giggling inside. "I just got the joke."

Barbara was intrigued, "the joke?" she asked.

"Yes," Delia laughed, " _To Kill A Moping Bird_... how long had you kept that gem squirreled away?"

Barbara joined in the laughter. "Oh gosh, I was dying to tell Trixie ever since I realised we wouldn't be seeing the film. She had just found out about you and the gentlemen. She dragged me, moping, all around Chelsea. So I thought moping, mocking..."

Barbara stopped abruptly, her eyes wide. She realised that she had just raised the elephant in the bus. She was quite pleased with this word-play also. Disappointed that now was not the time to share her semantic-based wit.

So much for the diversion, thought Delia as she turned to the window, avoiding Barbara's gaze. Quickly her panic gave way to confusion. _Gentleman?_ She thought.

Barbara shifted further toward the edge of the seat.

Xxx

Patsy and Trixie had not moved since the revelation. They were at a complete stand-off, each determined that the other would make the first move.

It was Patsy, uncomfortable at Trixie's gaze, who lost the silent battle. She couldn't stand the knowing look in Trixie's eye. One of judgement and terror. She had seen it before.

Patsy envisioned an earlier moment she had been revealed for all she was. Except, in a previous life she had been the revealer – her School chum, Cathy, the recipient. Patsy had been careful. It was only when she was sure that Cathy had not felt ill at the concept, when she was positive that Cathy, with her complete disinterest in boys and growing interest in the pretty new teacher, had felt a similar longing, that she mustered the courage to tell.

Cathy was _not_ relieved to find a like-minded soul, as Patsy had hoped. Cathy was alarmed and terrified. She had screamed that Patsy was a deviant, a sinner, a criminal. Patsy could still see her eyes, eyes that told her she was a disgrace. Eyes that both feared her and _feared for her_. Eyes that now belonged to Trixie.

Patsy's face filled with grief. She turned and ran toward the back of the club, finding solace in the littered, beer-stenched back alley. The cold startled her. She collapsed against the wall of an adjacent building, head rested against bended knees, hyperventilating.

She did not hear the door swing open, nor footsteps walk to her side. Her senses were filled with an inability to breathe, only confounded by the desperate heartache she felt in her chest. She was positive her heart had been torn out.

A hand on her shoulder only heightened her senses. She knew it was Trixie – the realisation of her closeness engulfed her. She was trapped, like a wounded animal. Angry and afraid.

Refusing to lift her head, Patsy sobbed into her knees, simultaneously sucking in any air she could find. Patsy heaved and cried, unable to find her breath, yet refusing to lift her head to source more air.

"Patsy?" coaxed Trixie, tone of a nurse - unfriendly yet professional. "You need to look up. You need to breathe," Trixie commanded, deliberately cold and clinical.

Patsy sucked in the stifled air. " _no!_ ", she found the strength to cry.

Trixie kneeled in front of Patsy and lifted her chin. It was more forceful than she had intended but she did not have the disposition to be delicate. Patsy's head tilted upwards, but still she refused to look at Trixie.

Trixie could see that Patsy's mascara had run, her face blotchy and red. She was the cause. She knew this. But part of her, an ugly part admittedly, had thought, hadn't Patsy bought this on herself? What Patsy _hid_ , what Patsy _was_...

Trixie gulped , her thoughts interrupted as Patsy shifted her focus. No longer avoiding eye contact, Patsy stared at her pointedly, with what she could only describe as the burning, scorching heat of a thousand atomic suns.

" _Why_ " Patsy sucked air in, " _are you even_ ", her chest heaved " _here!_ " she managed to scream, her voice enveloped in a low, husky tone.

It was a question Trixie had never expected to arise. Certainly a question she had never expected to answer. Trixie had thought that _she_ would be asking the questions. S _he_ had nothing to answer for. But she had, hadn't she?

Trixie mentally repeated the question – W _hy. Are. You. Even. Here?_

She stepped back, found the wall adjacent to Patsy and slowly dragged herself down. The ground was hard and wet. It would surely leave a stain on her outfit but she was beyond caring.

Patsy and Trixie stared into the abyss of each other. At a stand-off once more.


	9. Chapter 9

Delia stared at her own reflection in the bus window, street lights streamed across her face. "What are you talking about Barbara?" she asked. The words came soft and half-heartedly, unsure she wanted to know.

Barbara addressed Delia's reflection; thankful that she hadn't turned to her. "I'm awfully sorry Deils, I had tried to stop it. But you know what Trixie's like when she has a cause."

Delia turned to her.

Barbara looked to her lap, uncomfortable with Delia's searching eyes. "We saw you on the street, all dressed up. You looked lovely. Still do." Barbara picked once more at her woollen stockings. "It was clear that you weren't going to dinner with Mrs Bu... with your mum, that you were having a night out. And Trixie felt slighted I guess. So did I if I'm honest. I know that's no excuse"

"So you were _spying on us?_ " asked Delia, her anger just barely controlled.

Barbara scratched at a loose thread on her thigh. "No." She looked to Delia, eyes full of guilt. "Not at first."

Delia turned rapidly to the window once more.

 _For how long?_ She thought, in realisation of the possibilities.

Was it possible that Barbara was playing her for a fool? Possible that she actually saw when Patsy had kissed her on the street? Or when Patsy had wrapped her arms around her? Possible that Barbara was simply waiting for a guilty admission? _Possible even_ that Barbara had thought it best to mark it unseen, to never be spoken of. Such was the sin of her love.

"What did you _see_?" Delia asked, solemnly.

Barbara shifted once more, but she was now too far over the edge. She stumbled from the seat but gathered herself quickly. "I'm sorry..." she said, then sat in the adjacent seat.

"Barbara?" Delia looked to her. Barbara was sorry, had moved from her. As if she was someone to be pitied. As if she were contagious. Her chest ached.

"The gentlemen" Barbara explained.

 _The gentlemen. Of course._ She had been irrational in her panic. Barbara's excited, oblivious greeting in the club, despite the clientele, despite an interest from a pretty blonde, despite – or perhaps because of – the unconvincing 'gentlemen,' proved she didn't know a thing.

Delia breathed a sigh of relief.

"It was nothing really," reassured Barbara, mistaking Delia's long exhale as anxiety. "Just the two of you laughing with them, sharing a cigarette. You seemed close."

Delia realised now who she had meant. The handsome women from _Gateways_ , who politely offered a match and traded stories of their night. They were funny, charming even. _Gentlemen_. The misconception caused Delia to smile, slightly. The women would be chuffed if they knew.

Barbara paused, her mouth curling at the edges.

"You seemed really happy Delia."

And just as quickly as it came, Delia's smile gave way to a frown. _You seemed really happy._

Barbara tried to read Delia's face. It appeared to hold conflicting emotions. Fleeting and transient.

"I _am_ happy." Delia said, at last.

"Then why do you look so sad?" asked Barbara, leaning over and placing a hand on Delia's knee.

How could she tell Barbara that she was sad for the lie she had to tell? For the magnitude the falsehood had taken?

It was no longer a simple denial, but a story concocted. A story that omitted the love she held for Patsy.

Not since her College days had Delia engaged in speculation that there was some unseen man in her life. Even then it had only occurred once. This mysterious male suitor. The reason had been innocent enough, romantic even. Delia so wanted to tell the world about her exciting, new romance. Had wanted to share in the stories amongst her fellow nurses of all the kind, and not so kind, things their partners had done. Her Pat was a dashing, tall-red head with dreamy blue eyes. From good stock, their courtship had been conventional. Starting out as friends, they found a growing attraction to each other that couldn't be ignored. It had been Pat who made the first move, Delia had giggled to her friends. One night, over a friendly game of cards and a little liquid courage, it finally happened. Delia had been cheating; sitting on extra cards. Pat, laughing, had attempted to lift her legs to uncover the evidence. Pat had fumbled and landed on Delia, pinning her down. The look they had shared – of wanting, yearning, had been enough. Pat kissed her, nervous and brief at first and then... Delia's friends had given each other knowing looks. That was how it started, they said. Brief nervous fumbling. And then, just when you think you've managed to catch a sensitive guy who wants to wait too, is prepared to because you're different to all the other girls... Well, you rent a cheap motel, move to the back seat of his parent's car, let yourself be pressed against the wall of a dance hall. And that's that.

Delia had protested that Pat wasn't like that. Her Pat was sweet, stoic, had always put her first. But they had simply laughed and thought her naive, felt sorry for her even. And so, when the lie had got out of hand, when there were too many questions, too many demands to meet this unbelievable man, too many excuses as to why this couldn't be, Delia had declared that they were right. That Pat had been the same as all the other boys they had warned her about. Her friends were not surprised when it ended; it had made her one of the girls. Delia had enjoyed the solidarity. But felt all the more guilty, sneaking Patsy into her room at night, whispering to her that she loved her. But only when the coast was clear.

Patsy, _had_ been, _is_ , as perfect as she had described, thought Delia. But a secret. Then. And now.

Delia closed her eyes. Poor, brave, beautiful Patsy had to face their lie. Alone. And here she was, on the verge of another lie. Of a mysterious gentleman that made her happy, when it was Patsy who was her everything.

Delia's mind raced. She could tell Barbara that she was mistaken - that there was no gentleman. If there was to be no Patsy in her story, then there would be no story at all. No tale of being saved from a life of unhappiness by the love of a good man.

But even so, she thought, there would still be questions.

Delia's hands turned to fists beside her. She was sick to death of being afraid. Of being terrified of inevitable prying questions. Sick of only answering by omission. It had steered her away from any real, tangible friendship. _That's what friends did_. They asked about each others lives, helped each other get ready for dates, whispered about romantic gestures. She had never had that – only an illusionary version.

So, thought Delia, she could tell Barbara a half-truth, that there were no gentlemen. Or she could tell the whole truth and damn the consequences. Risk the imitation of friendship for an authentic one. Risk her livelihood for a life.

Delia's eyelids clenched. She left out a slow, measured breath.

"Delia, are you alright?" asked Barbara.

Delia opened her eyes to find that Barbara was sharing the seat with her once more. Her gaze steady and concerned. "You don't look well," said Barbara.

"No." said Delia, calmly, eyes on her lap.

"No? You're not well?" asked Barbara, concerned.

Delia shook her head. "No." She matched Barbara's gaze, "I'm not going to lie any more."


	10. Chapter 10

Trixie Franklin has many good virtues. Indeed, upon their first meeting Barbara thought that she had simply radiated sunshine and rainbows. This perception had changed slightly over time, of course. By the end of Barbara's first fortnight at Nonnatus House she had declined a night cap so many times; endured endless gossip about the private lives of nuns, that she had altered her position. No, Trixie Franklin illuminated cheerful feistiness and freshly popped champagne, Barbara had concluded. Both excellent qualities, but slightly less innocent.

Over time the entire residence of Nonnatus House had stumbled upon Trixie's slightly less alluring quality. She was quite simply as stubborn as a mule. Trixie's insistence that her exercise class was a priority, and incessantly suggesting that Barbara at least _try_ a tipple, were testament to this.

The alcohol _had not_ served to relax Barbara enough to send her to sleep, as Trixie had promised. Instead Barbara had hiccuped her way through an overly detailed sermon: _Why oh why were socks called socks?_ Though mostly incoherent, she had concluded they must have been invented by someone named Sock. Barbara was thankful that she was not a direct descendant. Barbara Sock was not becoming. She did like socks though, they were "most handy in winter."

Indeed Trixie's stubbornness could lead to priceless moments - an intoxicated Barbara. And moments less desired - bending over in leotards for an instructor who could model lingerie.

It could also, Patsy now realised, lead to nastiness. Trixie's obstinate nature revealed itself in full force as she refused to alter her fierce eye contact, nor answer the imposing question.

 _Why are you even here?_

Trixie knew why, of course. She was jealous, hurt, sneaky, a bad friend. A concoction of all the ghastly traits, the Trixie of cheerful feistiness and freshly popped champagne, could never admit to.

But Patsy was also bullheaded. Delia had informed her of this almost daily. Mostly the trait had been used to advance some well-meaning cause. She had been relentless in ensuring, despite all odds, that her Scouts learnt something – anything, whilst under her watch. For their part, the Scouts had learnt that Patsy was much calmer and good-humoured when Ms Busby tagged along.

Then, of course, there were those damn cigarettes. A habit she managed to keep defiantly, despite Delia's constant reminders of the health consequences. And indeed the bedroom consequences. Delia was not so stubborn in her reprimanding, it seemed.

And so, sitting adjacent the blonde, Patsy matched Trixie in bloody-minded looks of impending death by not-so-friendly fire.

This unyielding, Trixie had not accounted for. Surely, after all that had been revealed Patsy would be crumbling at her feet? Not causing Trixie's own feet to tremble.

She raised an eyebrow at the red-head. History, Trixie knew, dictated that she would win the battle.

As a child Trixie's younger brothers were renown for their mischief. They would steal flag-poles from front lawns and the cooling cakes on neighbour's windowsills. They were branded trouble-makers. Acquaintances failed to understand how they could belong to the same blood-line as that 'nice' Trixie. Unaware that it was Trixie who was the source of encouragement. Sitting back, eating the very cake her brothers had been scolded for.

Despite knowing she was wrong for using her brothers for personal gain, Trixie simply could not own up to this flaw in her personality. That she were capable of acts that were frowned upon. Besides, there were no rewards for admitting injustice. Certainly no cake. Forgiveness? she thought. Perhaps.

But seeing the venom on Patsy's face, Trixie discounted the possibility.

"Answer me!" Patsy demanded, her breathing less erratic.

Trixie felt her insides spilling over.

"Why. Are. You. Here?" Patsy repeated, louder.

"Why are _you?_ " Trixie retaliated. The immediacy – an attempt to escape inquisition.

Patsy fell silent.

"And what _is here_ exactly? This place?"

Trixie paused, letting the words fill the air. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

Trixie smirked, knowing full well what _Gateways_ was. She wanted to hear it from Patsy – to take the heat off what had bought her here.

"Oh please Trixie, you act as if you haven't been spying. As if I'm in the wrong!" shouted Patsy.

"Well _aren't you?_ " screamed Trixie. She immediately regretted her words.

Patsy rose to her feet, her anger giving way. "Pats, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

Patsy stood above her, staring down to her features; a mixture of hurt and rage in her face.

"You know," said Patsy, "I thought of all people, that you would be on my side. After the soldier you covered for, I thought..." Patsy stopped. She had almost likened herself to a fellow queer. She swallowed the word. Afraid of it's consequences.

Trixie sighed. She remembered the conversation they shared. It seemed so insignificant then. It had happened after the husband of a patient had been caught engaging in... what had Police called it? Unnatural Acts? Trixie wondered what other insignificant conversations, would soon become significant with hindsight.

"Pats..."

Patsy turned to her, but Trixie couldn't think of the words. She wasn't sure what to say. Beyond accusations and snide remarks. Her defence, her armour had held her words hostage.

"What?" asked Patsy. "You're going to sit there and pretend - after the spying, that look of disgust, the accusation that how I feel is... that you're on my side?"

"If you had just told me this wouldn't..."

"This wouldn't have happened?" Patsy interrupted. "You wouldn't have had to spy on me like I was..." Patsy's eyes wandered, searching for the words, "a bloody war criminal!"

Trixie stood to her feet. "I don't think you're a criminal, Patsy." She looked to her, eyes concerned, head positioned slightly off-kilter. Then looked away. "But you're not who I thought you were."

Patsy kicked an empty can that littered the alley. Not in anger, but an attempt at distraction. She let out a long breath, ready to tell Trixie that nothing had changed. She was exactly the strong, reliable friend she had been just hours before. It was a speech well rehearsed.

But of course things _had_ changed. Not all her doing.

"Well", Patsy traced a cobblestone with the tip of her shoe, "you're not the friend I thought I had either."

Trixie sucked in the air, as if all the words Patsy had said could be consumed and forgotten. She exhaled. " _Friend,_ " she said. "Let's talk about that shall we?"

Patsy scoffed, "so you don't want to be my friend now that you know?" She shook her head, incredulously.

"Know _what_ , Patsy?" Trixie asked, pleading. She took a step toward her.

Patsy concentrated on the movements her foot was making, outlining the imperfect square in the road. She was aware that she should leave, could leave. But she wanted to be sure that her secret remained safe. This meant, of course, that she would have to say it. The actual words that she could barely say to herself, to Delia even. She wasn't sure she could.

"Why do you even care?" Patsy cried, not daring to look at the blonde approaching her. Patsy placed her arm out - hand stretched, fingers pointed at the sky. It stopped Trixie from moving closer.

"I care because I _thought_ we were friends," said Trixie, staring at the hand before her.

"Friends don't spy on each other!" screamed Patsy.

"Friends don't _lie_ to each other!" Trixie's shoulders slumped. "I know I shouldn't have followed you. I wouldn't have if I knew..." Trixie scoffed, "Christ Pats, I'm not even sure I know now."

Patsy released her arm, letting it fall to her side. She turned from Trixie.

Trixie waited for Patsy to explain, to say the words aloud, but knew it wouldn't come.

"You know I thought you were seeing someone."

Patsy turned her head, curious.

"I saw you" Trixie paused. " _And Delia_ ", she said delicately.

Patsy closed her eyes at the mention of Delia's name.

"You were outside, dressed up. Completely different attire than you had been wearing when you left. You were not, as it were, with Mrs Busby."

Trixie waited until the full weight of the insinuation had landed. "So I thought - those two are up to something." She paused. "And I followed."

Trixie began to pace between the two adjacent walls encompassing the alley. "I saw you laughing with whom I _thought_ were two sophisticated gentlemen. I thought you were keeping them from me. That you were embarrassed to introduce them to dear, drunk ol' Trixie."

Trixie stopped pacing. She turned to face Patsy. "And _that_ , to answer your question, is why I'm here – wounded, sober, pride."

An excruciating silence filled the air.

"So why dear Patsy, _are you_?"

Patsy braced herself. She thought of how brave Delia would be if she were here. Delia would tell Trixie what she _was_. That she was in love. With a woman. And Trixie could accept it or that would be the end of their friendship. But Delia wasn't here. She had abandoned her; escaped with Barbara, of whom no explanation was needed.

Patsy felt all the courage drain out of her. No explanation was needed here either, she concluded. Trixie had seen what _she was_ with her very eyes. To expect a full confession, after all Trixie's antics, was downright elitist.

"That's none of your business," said Patsy, at last. She looked to Trixie, "despite what you think Nurse Franklin, the universe doesn't revolve around you. Certainly not my personal life."

Trixie felt a stab of pain in her chest. Perhaps she really had misconstrued their friendship. The pain tightened as Trixie thought of all she had confided. The drinking, the insecurities about Tom. Patsy had given her nothing. Patsy had thought her untrustworthy, had not thought her a friend.

It was the pain that caused Trixie to lash out – to speak all the words that were in her head. Words she knew should never be said aloud. Words that _nice_ girls didn't say. Feelings that _nice_ girls didn't have.

"It is _my_ _business_ " she spat.

Trixie grabbed hold of Patsy's shoulder, turning her around forcefully. "It's _my_ _business_ when I have to make excuses for you. Explain why you're mysteriously absent from your bed when you're not on shift."

Patsy backed away from her.

"It's _my_ _business_ when I share a room with you." Trixie stepped closer to her, lessening the gap. "When I dance with you. Undress in front of you."

Patsy ceased retreating. "Really Trixie," she yelled, "if you think that I'm attracted..."

" _It's my business,"_ Trixie interrupted, "when you do what _you do_ for a living."

And there it was, thought Patsy. The reason why she could never tell. Her livelihood, all she had worked for, was at stake.

Patsy's doggedness collapsed. Tears erupted from her eyes. She turned and ran.

Trixie watched as Patsy turned the corner, her loud sobs filling the silence of the night. She felt her legs give way with the weight of all she had said. She hit the ground with the same impact her words had surely had on Patsy.

Patsy - who had never judged her, despite the break ups, her drinking, her inflexibility. It had taken her friend running away from her, running _because_ of her, to remember what had slipped away.

"You cold-blooded, pig-headed, judgemental fool!" she spat to herself.

Trixie had won the battle. But the war within herself had just begun.


	11. Chapter 11

_Delia shook her head. "No." She matched Barbara's gaze, "I'm not going to lie any more."_

Barbara looked to Delia with sympathy. "Don't worry Delia. You simply weren't ready to tell us about your gentleman." Barbara took hold of Delia's trembling hand. "I understand," she said, "life in Nonnatus can be hard when everyone knows your business."

'Don't I know it," replied Delia, chest thumping.

Barbara laughed. "Yes, well try dating a chap who was once engaged to a fellow resident."

 _Try dating a fellow resident,_ thought Delia.

Delia broke contact with Barbara's hand and concentrated on the space once held.

"Well, you see Barbara…" Delia paused, contemplating how to put her admission delicately, "there is no _gentleman_."

Barbara's eyes grew grey with disappointment. "Oh," she said, "I see."

Delia doubted it.

"But…" Barbara hesitated. She was about to say 'but you've admitted… you're happy.' Then she realised it was 1962 and she wasn't her mother. Happiness, a modern girl knew, wasn't dependant on a gentleman.

"Oh gosh, I feel so embarrassed!" exclaimed Barbara, her hands touching her flushed cheeks.

Her reaction had caused Delia to feel that perhaps Barbara _had understood_ ; there was no need to elaborate further. It wasn't a great reaction but at least Barbara wasn't chasing her with a pitchfork.

"I wouldn't have jumped to conclusions ordinarily, but... you just seemed so unlike yourself," said Barbara. "Of course, seeing you happy... finally, well it doesn't mean you have a gentleman. People can just be happy. I'm sorry Deils."

So she didn't understand, thought Delia. That made two of them.

" _Unlike myself_?" she asked.

Barbara looked to her sheepishly. "Now don't take this the wrong way, but I always thought there was a sadness about you. Maybe it was the circumstances that bought you here, I mean that terrible accident you had – it was just..." Barbara searched for the word.

"Terrible?" Delia suggested. She smirked, concealing the dull ache she felt when thinking about the accident. It wasn't so much the event itself, but the contrast between what she had before and after that moment. One minute she had shared a home with Patsy, a chance of living as normally as she could, the next she was in Wales trying to piece her life together. And now, _well_ , she lived in a house with nuns; just as the boys at school had joked she would. "I wouldn't even try it with Delia," they had sniggered, "she's practically a nun!" But Delia had always felt the joke was on them; her sixteen year old self wouldn't have minded boarding in a house full of women. Her much older self, however, would prefer to live with just one.

"Yes, quite," agreed Barbara. "it was terrible."

" _I am happy,_ Barbara, just like you said. I can't even remember the last time I felt blue, to be honest... It was most likely when I was in Wales, missing London." She looked to her friend. " _Missing_ _Patsy_."

Delia had said the word with all the meaning her voice could convey. She focused on the fine expressions on Barbara's face, hoping to glimpse a sign of discernment in the minute details; the arch of her brow, or a twitch of the mouth.

"Yes, there is something about this place," agreed Barbara.

Nothing. Delia sighed but it was missed by Barbara; too lost in her own thoughts.

"No, it was something more," said Barbara, frowning. "It was like you were never your true self. Perhaps that's because you're new to Nonnatus. I felt like a fish out of water too when I first arrived." She looked to Delia and smiled. "I'm glad you're finding your feet. And having such a good friend as Patsy by your side, well it must be an enormous comfort."

"Yes!" said Delia, the excitement in her pronouncement startled Barbara. She let out a nervous giggle.

"Patsy has been, _is,_ an enormous comfort," said Delia. "Sometimes I feel like she's the only one who knows me. The only one I can truly be myself with."

Delia looked to Barbara with intent, sure that this time, her words and the look in her eye would convey her secret. "We're very alike, Patsy and I. We're not like other girls." Delia's eyes widened. " _You see?_ "

A deep flush crept over Barbara's face. "Well, that explains why you seemed so free earlier" said Barbara. "I had a friend like that once," she said, with a sense of urgency unfitting of the sentiment.

Though frustrated Delia couldn't help but laugh. She covered her mouth. I _'m absolutely positive that you didn't_ , she thought.

"What?" Barbara laughed, more an attempt at camaraderie than sharing the humour. "I did! We were both in this dastardly sewing class together. All the other girls just seemed to take to it, but Susan and I, well we were like a fish out of water. I managed to sew the most lopsided pillow case you could imagine! Ordinarily I would have been mortified that I had managed to produce something so imperfect. My grades were at stake!"

Delia nodded at Barbara, suppressing her laughter.

"But with Susan by my side, and her equally disastrous apron, I didn't mind at all." Barbara laughed. "In the end we had a competition as to who could produce the most awful monstrosity." Barbara placed her hands flat in the air for emphasis. "I'm pleased to say, Ms Delia Busby, that my lopsided pillow case was victorious."

Delia grinned. "Do you still have it? The pillow case?"

Barbara thought for a moment. "You know I think my mother uses it as a rag when cleaning the windows!" she laughed again. Delia joined her but stopped abruptly, realising that her moment of truth was passing with time.

 _Risk the imitation of friendship for an authentic one_ , Delia mentally repeated. Just like Susan, Delia could be the unashamedly imperfect friend to Barbara. She just had to find out whether Barbara could be the perfect friend to her.

The _literal approach_ to the matter had failed though, Delia conceded. Honestly, she thought, who doesn't know what _'we're not like other girls'_ means? Barbara was much more clueless to the ways of the world than she had first imagined. Perhaps she would have to start by introducing Barbara to the radical concept of two piece bathing suits or the possibility of women wearing slacks! Take it one baby step at a time. Still, she thought, perhaps a different approach was more sensible.

And so, Delia had decided to take the Patsy approach to things: _use your head before your heart_.

Just as she had done with friends before, Delia would ascertain Barbara's thoughts on _people like her_. If she failed, like so many had done in the past, Delia would know that Barbara Gilbert was not the Patron Saint of All Earthly Creatures that she thought she was. She wouldn't tell her – and no harm done. If she passed – a real, tangible friendship could begin.

"Barbara?" she enquired.

Upon seeing the now serious look on Delia's face, Barbara ceased her laughter. "Yes Delia?" Her forehead creased.

"How religious are you?"

"What a strange question." Barbara pondered. "Quite religious, I guess. Though if you had asked my father, he would have said I was quite the little heathen!"

"Why so?" asked Delia, hoping it was due to her unrivalled love of homosexuals. Delia could imagine her, placard in hand, leading a bunch of hand-holding men to the steps of Parliament in the most polite protest in history.

"Oh, I'm not quite as devout as my father, much to his dismay. I only pray occasionally, usually when I want something, I'm ashamed to admit. My father would say 'Barbara, though the Lord works in mysterious ways, the miraculous appearance of silk pantihose and the latest rouge is not one of them.'" Barbara smiled at the memory. "You see, he would only see me praying very occasionally. So he naturally assumed that my speaking to the Lord was not for matters of the purely religious nature."

"So were you? Praying for rouge and silk pantihose? Honestly you don't seem like the type!" squealed Delia.

Barbara seemed hurt at the insinuation, her mouth quivered slightly.

"Oh I didn't mean that you don't make an effort, just that you seem to put others, or causes, first."

"Well, no. I hasten to agree with you. Usually I was praying for the homeless person I met that day, or one of the church members who had just lost their job. We served a very poor area, you see. There was always someone to pray for."

Delia smiled at her. "You, Barbara Gilbert, are quite simply one of the kindest people I've ever met!"

Barbara blushed and traced the seat in front of her with her finger, gingerly. "In fact," said Delia, "I bet there isn't a person, or say, _group of people_ , of whom you didn't want to protect?"

Barbara thought for a moment. "No, I don't suppose there is. I wouldn't necessarily protect a murderer though!" she exclaimed. "Or someone who hurts children." She paused. "Or women." Barbara stared ahead, fleetingly. "I mean _I would protect women_. You know, if someone hurt them." She looked to Delia. "It sounded as though _I wouldn't_ protect them. But I would. Most definitely" She stared ahead once more. "Unless they murdered someone. Or hurt children. Or women – if they hurt each other that is... That's a tricky one."

Delia bended her head to catch Barbara's eye – an attempt to keep her on track.

"What about sinners? Beyond murderers and those who hurt women and children, I mean" asked Delia.

Barbara ceased tracing the chair before her and looked to Delia inquisitively. "Everyone sins, Delia."

"Yes, but doesn't it depend on the sin?"

"Well, there are some sins that are graver than others, I suppose. But 'he without sin shall cast the first stone,' as father used to say." She paused. "Well he got that from the Bible," Barbara clarified. "He used to quote from all sorts of texts. His favourite book..."

"What about Mr Amos? What about his sin?" Delia interrupted, quick to stop the rambling.

"Mr Amos?"

Barbara hadn't remembered him. _Of course_. Though the event had weighed down on Patsy and herself, it would be insignificant to Barbara. The fact that a queer had been arrested for 'unnatural acts' would not have formed part of her history.

"He was arrested for being... with a man. His wife was a patient of Patsy."

"Of course", said Barbara, "Poor woman. And fellow, I guess, having to live with that."

Delia looked to the window. Barbara hadn't branded him a criminal but she certainly hadn't talked about him lovingly.

"So you have sympathy for him?" asked Delia, without turning to her.

"He's an adulterer", said Barbara. "It's hard to feel sorry for him." She smiled, "but let's talk of more pleasant things. We shouldn't ruin..."

Barbara saw the anger rising through Delia's face and stopped abruptly.

"But he was forced to _pretend_ , to _lie_! Certainly society is as much to blame?!" said Delia, louder and more urgent than she had intended. She turned away.

Barbara sat shocked at the sudden outburst. A heavy silence fell between them.

Barbara clasped her hands together and rested them in her lap. "What are the answers you seek, my child?" she said in a low, monotone voice. It was an effort to make Delia laugh, or at the very least, change the subject. It didn't work.

Delia looked to her, her anger giving way to sadness. Barbara had failed the test, but so had she. She was about to use her heart before her head. So desperate was she to unleash her burden.

" _Answer me this_ ", said Delia, her voice raised. "What gives a policeman, hell the whole of society, the right to call how _I feel_ unnatural..." She softened her voice, "when it's the most natural thing in the world to me?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," said Barbara. She turned from Delia and looked out the far window. "Is that snow?" she asked, placing a hand on Delia's knee. It wasn't.

"I _mean_ ," said Delia, grabbing Barbara's attention, "that when a woman _like me_ does _that,"_ she gestured toward Barbara's hand placement, "to a woman _like me._ " Delia paused. "They're not just friends."

Barbara removed her hand quickly, just as Delia knew she would. Part of her knew this was a natural reaction, but another resentful part, hated her for it.

Barbara rose from her seat. " _Oh_ " she said.

And _that's that_ , thought Barbara. Delia's explicitness, her own reaction. It had meant that she could no longer hide behind the pretence of naivety. _Missing Patsy, we're not like other girls, unnatural acts_. She knew what it all meant. She was a woman of the world - she owned a two piece bathing suit (she hid it in her bottom drawer, under the Bible and a long abandoned nightgown). She had just hoped that Delia would give up on her and find someone who had more experience of dealing with such matters. Someone who would give all the right answers and not ask all the wrong questions.

Barbara had heard of women like that, sure, but her only real experience of them was theoretical – _biblical_. Well, not in the 'biblical sense' that Delia perhaps had experience with. But in scripture - the ones where the priest turned red and spat the words out. Though the Bible had only mentioned men, her congregation was quick to point out that women were also capable of such unspeakable acts.

"You're..." Barbara couldn't say the word.

"Yes" said Delia, nodding.

Barbara sat in the adjacent seat and fell silent.

"Please say something Barbara," said Delia, moving closer in her seat.

Though Barbara didn't mean to, had never thought of her 'normal' friends in such a way, her mind instantly imagined Delia in bed... with another woman. She was somewhat thankful that she had no idea what two women _did_ in that department. Her vision had started and ended with hand-holding above silk sheets. Naked hand-holding. She gulped, her mouth suddenly dry. Barbara blushed, refusing to look at Delia, despite the Welsh woman's pleas to do so.

Delia sighed. _What a fool she had been_. Her best friend, her Patsy, had already provided her with everything she could ever desire, why on earth did she need another close friend? One who couldn't possibly understand?

"Barbara if you no longer wish to be friends, I understand." said Delia, a tear fell down her cheek. "It would be a great loss to me, but it would be a significant loss if you told others." She paused. "We'd lose our jobs, our home..."

Barbara looked to Delia at last, a mixture of sadness and concern on her face.

"I know I've placed a huge burden on you Barbara, I shouldn't have said anything. We could just forget and never talk of this again." Delia turned to the window, fighting back tears.

"You said we," said Barbara, quietly. " _We'd_ lose our jobs, our home."

Delia closed her eyes. _Patsy_. She had ruined what little life they had together, just as she had before – with the accident. Everything they worked for had been taken. Because of her. And it would taken again. If Trixie didn't tell, Barbara surely would.

Barbara looked to Delia. Her face fell, seeing the tears resting on her friend's face.

Delia couldn't say Patsy's name. She buried her head in her hands and cried out all the hope she once had for a meaningful friendship.

 _We'd lose our jobs_ , _our homes_. Suddenly, it seemed to Barbara, that she did have experience to deal with this. She thought of the people in Liverpool that she had prayed for. Who had lost their jobs, were close to eviction. It was not through fault of their own, but through circumstance, a changing society, and sometimes – prejudice. If Barbara could not quite understand what Delia and Patsy _were_ or how _they fel_ t toward each other, she could understand what they _faced_. She could at least be a support.

She crept over and folded Delia into her arms. It was supposed to be a comfort but it had caused her friend to wail even louder.

Barbara wasn't sure what to say, beyond asking a million questions, most – inappropriate. But Delia had revealed her truth, thought Barbara, and the truth was always good place to start.

"You know," she spoke softly, "when I first saw you two together, it was at the clinic. You were helping her put posters on the wall. The look on Patsy's face, I had never seen someone so happy." Barbara paused. "Until tonight... Patsy was laughing and you had looked at her like she was the single cause of everything right in the world."

Delia wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I can't see how there could be anything wrong with that," said Barbara.

Yes, it was slightly sentimental, but it had been the truth. The memory of it, at least. Saying it aloud had even helped Barbara understand their connection. _A little_. Baby steps, she thought.

And so Barbara swapped the pretence of naivety for the pretence of acceptance. It wasn't, of course. that she didn't accept her friends, nor never would. Barbara was conflicted. She feared for them. Their livelihoods and their souls. She feared that she could never be the friend that Delia had hoped she could be; one completely authentic and free from judgement. But she loved them too, dearly, and would support them as she would any flock that had asked for her help. Just as her father had taught her.

"Well this is our stop," said Barbara, breaking the sentimentality. She was thankful the journey had ended.

Delia had wanted to hug Barbara with all the strength she had gained from unleashing her burden. But she knew it was perhaps too soon for unsolicited physical contact. Instead she thanked her and led the way, down the steps of the bus and toward the stoop of Nonnatus House.

Delia searched her hand bag for the key. She was about to turn the lock when she felt Barbara's hand on her arm.

"Thank you for telling me," said Barbara. "I can't imagine how difficult that would have been."

"I'm sure it wasn't easy to hear."

Barbara smiled, weakly.

"I wonder how Trixie's dealing with it, the look on her face!" exclaimed Delia. Now that her truth had been revealed, Delia could see the humour in the night's events.

"What do you mean?" asked Barbara.

"Let's just say," Delia leaned forward and whispered, "she caught Patsy and I in the club, in a rather compromising position." She laughed.

Barbara blushed, suddenly imagining what position that entailed exactly. "You were positioned compromising-ly in the club?! In public?!" she stumbled, aghast. "What if someone had caught you?"

Delia ushered Barbara away from the door. "The only people who really care what we do at _Gateways_ are people who shouldn't even be there! Like Trixie." She nudged Barbara, "and yourself." She laughed.

"Well yes, we shouldn't have spied. Again, I'm sorry." Barbara failed to grasp the humour.

Barbara moved Delia further away from the door, afraid that Nuns had harnessed the gift of sonic hearing in their absence. " But I'm more concerned about your open affection in the club. That place was jam-packed tonight. Honestly Delia, I'm trying not to judge, but you really need to be more careful."

Delia sat down on the stoop and patted the cement next to her. Barbara joined her.

"Now about _Gateways_..." said Delia.

Xxx

Though she was tired, for the first time in months, Barbara found herself at the foot of her bed, kneeling. Her father would be dismayed that yet again, instead of merely speaking to the Lord, Barbara was asking of the Lord. She did not, as she had thought she would upon hearing the news, ask the Lord to help her friends see the error of their ways. She did not ask to send them on the path to righteousness. Instead she asked the Lord for help, so that she may understand and accept her friends with all their differences. So that she would have all the right answers and not so many of the wrong questions. She knew it would take time, but she was prepared to ask of the Lord nightly. For that and some pantihose She had picked a hole through hers on the bus.

Barbara crept into bed and ruffled her pillows. She noticed, for the first time since arriving at Nonnatus, the strangeness of the underlying pillow. The fabric was as uniform as her other pillow and there was no difference in its bouyancy, it's fit for purpose. But the coarseness of the stich, the lopsidedness of the shape... so much for it's use as a window rag, she thought. Barbara traced along it's unashamed imperfectness and smiled.

The Lord did indeed work in mysterious ways.


	12. Chapter 12

Patsy contemplated sleeping in the shed, but worried Fred would catch her in the early morning, nestled between a paint tin and the rake. The conclusion, then, could only be that Patsy had ended up there on some drunken misadventure and passed out. _It would be_ her best option to cry in privacy, away from a judgemental roommate, but she couldn't risk the consequences.

And so, Patsy settled on the settee that was much too small for her elongated frame. She would have to stifle her sobs and pretend, when found by a curious Nun, that she was simply too exhausted to venture upstairs.

It was here that Delia found her; her body impossibly bended, head resting on a sofa cushion. Patsy had heard her coming, despite the Welsh woman's attempt at sneaking. She closed her eyes and mimicked the steady breathing of deep slumber.

Delia knelt beside the redhead. "Cariad?" she whispered into Patsy's ear. Patsy continued her steady breathing.

Delia stroked Patsy's cheek, "Cariad?"

Delia knew that Patsy was faking her slumber. The redhead, though sophisticated in practically every aspect of life, was not the picture of elegance in her sleep. Quite simply, she snored like a lorry driver after a day at the pub. The 'fake-sleeping method' was also a tell-tale sign that Patsy was angry. Given her tendency to avoid confrontation, Patsy would try to 'sleep' her way through any emotion that would creep beyond her control.

Delia's first witness to this came after an unexpected visit from her mother. Patsy and Delia were both nursing at the Male Surgical Ward at the time. After weeks of failing to have some time off together, they had set a date. A late night dinner at an Italian Restaurant that Delia had just been dying to try. And it was here that Patsy had waited, well beyond what was considered polite. It wasn't until the restaurant had dimmed their lights and waiters began stacking chairs, that Patsy knew for sure, that her kind, reliable girl had stood her up. Patsy had made her polite excuses to the wait staff, 'I must have mixed up the dates.' But she knew she hadn't, any opportunity of being alone with each other was engrained in each woman's memory. Patsy was angry and hurt. Part of her wanted to march into Delia's room and demand an apology, but the part that always won, wanted to avoid it; pretend it never happened. And so, when Delia crept into her room in the early hours of the morning, full of guilty kisses and excuses, Patsy had thought it best to lapse into a spontaneous coma. It had worked until Delia placed her hands in certain areas, delicately at first and then with greater intensity. It created a heated sensation that comatose patients, medically, should not feel. Patsy had involuntarily lunged forward with a gasp. Delia had declared herself a miracle worker.

 _And so,_ Delia knew that the best remedy for sudden unconsciousness started with a slow succession of kisses to the neck.

"Cariad?" Delia whispered, kissing softly, "sure you're asleep?"

Patsy remained still.

Delia smirked and placed more gentle kisses on Patsy's neck as her fingers slowly traced along her collarbone and crept under her shirt. Just as she cupped Patsy's breast, Delia licked the length of her neck. It caused Patsy to rise up, just as she anticipated. But instead of pulling Delia toward her, Patsy pushed her away. Delia fell back to the floor, her hands falling behind her. There was not sin in Patsy's eyes, but anger. She was about to unleash.

Patsy stood and cowered over the small brunette.

"Are you insane?" asked Patsy through gritted teeth. "What if someone had caught us?"

Delia sat on the floor, speechless. "I..." she stumbled.

"Jesus Delia, if you don't have any self-respect, at least have some for the residents of this house!"

The harshness of the words had shocked Delia. Stunned her so that instead of lashing out as she ordinarily would, she searched for the words to calm her girlfriend. Patsy could, _would_ , apologise later, she thought.

"Pats, I didn't mean.."

"We are not even safe behind locked doors Delia! Hell not even in a club full of people"... Patsy scanned her surroundings, " _like us_ " she hissed. "What on earth led you to believe you could do that in a shared living area?!" Though she had said the words in an abrasive whisper; the sentiment was deafening.

Delia had never seen Patsy so angry before, had certainly never heard such harsh words come from her mouth. Not directed at her at least.

Delia rose to her feet and approached Patsy. "I didn't think" she said. Delia placed her hand on Patsy's arm, "I..." Patsy brushed it away.

Delia didn't know what else to do but re-attempt some physical closeness. She stepped toward the taller woman again. But then, in the distance, she heard a door creep open. It stopped her from moving any further.

They froze and listened as steps walked the length of the passage way, up the stairs and into a bedroom. The door clicked. The two women let out a long awaited breath.

" _Trixie_ " said Patsy. She sat down on the sofa and stared into space.

Delia sat beside her and placed a hand on Patsy's knee; the muscles stiffened in response. "I'm sorry", she whispered. "It was stupid, I wasn't thinking."

Delia looked to Patsy but she remained steady on the blackness before her.

"Well, actually _I was thinking,"_ said Delia _._ "I was thinking that whenever you pretend to be asleep you're either angry or hurt. Or both. And... _I wanted to make you feel better."_

"It's useless," said Patsy.

"Don't say that Pats... I'm sure after a good night's sleep..."

Patsy turned to her. "After a good night's sleep Trixie won't hate me? The entire world won't be against us?" Patsy whispered in harsh tones. She laughed suddenly, sharply, "Christ, I can't even talk about us without whispering!"

"Let's talk in my room then," said Delia, rising, motioning for Patsy to join her. She was grateful for the cloak of darkness that shrouded the room; it meant that Patsy could not see that her eyes were slowly dissolving.

"Grand idea," said Patsy, sarcastically. "I can whisper and be _even more_ terrified in there. It's much less suspicious to be found in your room!"

Delia placed her hands on her hips, her mouth curling at the edge. "Patience Mount, if you do not follow me upstairs right now, I will give you good reason to be terrified!" Delia's voice broke, revealing her angered sorrow.

Patsy slumped her shoulders and followed a fast-walking Delia. Not because of the words, or because Delia's accent had become suddenly and distinctly more Welsh (as often occurred when she was upset), but because of the rising volume in Delia's voice. Their argument, she knew, could be just between the two of them, or between the two women and the whole of Nonnatus house.

When Delia was angry, she didn't care who knew. As Patsy walked the stairs, she recalled the time a male patient had pinched Delia's behind. In front of staff and fellow patients, Delia had ripped through him, using a combination of English and Welsh; the latter of which Patsy was sure contained various curse words. She had made a mental note to find out what 'basdun' meant.

Once safe in her room, Delia locked the door and turned on the lamp. She sat on the bed and watched as Patsy paced the room. It caused her shadow to dance in the artificial light.

"I assume Trixie didn't take it well?" asked Delia, concern on her face.

Patsy didn't respond.

"And that's why you were on the sofa?"

Nothing.

Delia sighed. She walked to her dresser and picked out a spare set of night clothes. Pyjamas she had bought especially for the nights she had hoped Patsy would visit, intending to be brief, but staying out of pure necessity to wake in each other's arms. It had never happened. Patsy would always creep off before Delia awoke, terrified of being caught.

"Here," she said, handing Patsy the pyjamas, "at least get out of those clothes."

Patsy held the pyjamas so limply that Delia did not let go for fear they'd fall on the floor. They stood, holding them until Patsy spoke, at last. " _You abandoned me_ ," she said.

" _Sorry?"_ asked Delia.

"Tonight. You left me. To face it all on my own." Patsy let the tears fall down her face.

Delia took a step toward Patsy and cupped her face in her hands, letting the pyjamas fall. "Oh my beautiful girl, I thought you'd want me to get Barbara out of there. That you wouldn't want her to know. I'm so, so sorry."

Delia kissed the tears away from Patsy's cheek.

"I always thought I'd be alone" said Patsy, sucking in air, "with my mum and sister gone. And my father..." she paused, breathing out unsteadily. "In boarding school, when I realised the person I was becoming, well I knew then that the world would be against me. I was so terrified Delia."

Patsy stared into Delia's eyes, tears still falling. "But then I met you. And I thought, I don't care any more, the whole world could be against me. I could lose my job. My home. My _friends_. But at least I wouldn't be alone. I'd still have you."

Delia kissed Patsy's mouth, but it was a kiss not reciprocated. She looked to Patsy with worry.

"But tonight – all that I feared would happen - _did. Or is about to_. And you weren't there."

Delia's heart sank. "Patsy," she said, "you must believe that I was _always_ with you. _I am_ always with you." Delia tightened her grasp and steadied her eyes on the taller woman. "I honestly thought, that by taking Barbara and leaving, I was making things better." She paused. "But as we know from downstairs, my well-meaning efforts in making things better, doesn't always work."

The guilt plastered on Delia's face served as an apology for the abandonment. But it had also branded her further act of ill repute. She had told Barbara of Patsy's secret when it wasn't hers to tell. Her motive for abandonment was now redundant.

Seeing the hurt that consumed Patsy, Delia knew that now was not the time to confess. "I'm so sorry, Pats." It was a blanket apology for what Patsy _knew now -_ and what she would _soon know_.

Patsy grabbed Delia and held her with the weight of all the fear that had consumed her. "Promise me you'll never leave. _You're all I have_."

"I'm not going anywhere," whispered Delia.

Delia held Patsy close until the last tear had fallen. Then she broke free from the embrace and led Patsy to the foot of the bed. She sat Patsy down and positioned herself beside her.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" asked Delia.

Patsy shook her head solemnly.

"You said that all that you feared would happen - is about to. Is Trixie going to tell?"

"I honestly don't know," said Patsy, sighing. "She made it clear that being _what I am_ , I have no business being a midwife."

Delia sprung from the bed, her face red and her fists' clenched, "if you lose your job over her damn ignorance, I.."

Patsy met the brunette and placed her hands over Delia's clenched fists. "Now Deils, I don't want you to tear the house down. Okay?", her voice defeated.

"But your job, Pats. You've never wanted to be anything else. And to lose it over something so ridiculous... There are plenty of heterosexual women on Male Surgical – _they're_ not losing their jobs over the pure enjoyment of seeing men's... willies!" she spat.

Patsy couldn't help but erupt in laughter. It's contagiousness causing Delia to cry into Patsy's shoulder.

"I do love you Delia," Patsy whispered in her ear, once the laughter had descended. "And I love you," said Delia, rising from Patsy's shoulder and kissing her lips. "We'll be okay," she promised.

Patsy smiled weakly, not quite believing it to be true. "And I'm sorry about... what happened downstairs," she said, her arms entwined with Delia's. Whilst the truth, it was more an attempt at avoiding any further speculation of their fate. Patsy was exhausted of reassuring herself. Using her heart before her head was not something in which she was accustomed.

"I know, it was the events of tonight talking. You're just lucky I didn't match it."

"Yes," agreed Patsy, "I imagine you'd call me a 'basdun?'"

Delia laughed. "How do you know that word?"

"I heard you say it to a patient once. What is it by the way?"

"A basdun is exactly what you were downstairs," said Delia, grinning.

"Oh," said Patsy, "it must mean dashing, or beautiful, or irresistible," said Patsy. She was now smiling - for the first time since she and Delia took their last, fateful dance. Though Delia could see that the smile was tinged with sadness.

"I didn't know you thought of dear Mr Wentworth that way," Delia squealed, remembering the event.

"Oh yes," said Patsy, edging closer to the brunette's lips, "I saw him and I thought for a moment that I'd been saved." Patsy grinned, the sadness slipping - just as Delia had hoped.

Delia pushed her away, laughing.

The two women watched each other until the laughter tapered. It was a brief moment of pure love and joy, just as their day had begun. But then Patsy noticed Delia's happiness slowly fade, her expression suddenly sombre. She took a step toward her.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Delia.

Patsy engulfed Delia in her arms. "That is a discussion for tomorrow," she said, avoiding speculation once more.

"But for now?" Patsy looked to Delia with a raised a eyebrow. Despite the danger, she was determined to forget, for just a moment, their impending fate.

" _You're going to make me feel better_ ," she whispered, as she led the brunette back to bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Trixie stared at the bottle in hand. It had been months since she drowned her sorrows in liquid courage. She had not quite endured so many alcohol-free nights as to declare herself abstinent, but lying against the bed frame, staring at the empty bed adjacent, she had never felt so sober.

Trixie had an excuse for every drinking escapade. A celebration of her engagement - sorrow over it's end. A night out with the girls – a rare night in to herself. But what would she raise a glass to now? The end to friendship? The end to sobriety? She shook the liquid until it formed a cloud in it's glass enclosure. Trixie watched it intensely, hoping that once the fog had cleared, she'd see Patsy through the contortion of the glass – hand out, forgiving.

Trixie didn't know where Patsy was, but assumed she was in Delia's room. Talking about her – her cruelty and intolerance. Perhaps they would say that she were two-faced, judgemental, callous. And they'd be right, she thought. Trixie hid the bottle under the bed, determined they couldn't add 'drunk' to their list of her most ardent qualities.

Trixie changed into her nightclothes and turned off the light. She lay in the claustrophobic confines of her bed covers, unable to think of anything other than Patsy and booze. She wondered whether there were any words that had the same memory-altering effects as alcohol. A magic potion of a sentence that could erase the night's events. _Sorry, forgive me, I need you_ – just didn't seem to cut it.

Trixie knew the impact of words. A declaration of love had conceived many a child. A declaration of war had caused London to crumble. Words, she knew, could be uttered in seconds but bring a lifetime of change. Seconds was all it took, after all, for Tom to utter words of beginnings and words of ends. Seconds, she sighed, was enough to utter words of regret - _"it's my business when you do what you do for a living."_

And so, Trixie fished the bottle from under the bed and counted the seconds down – 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... she took a swig of bravery. A magic potion for magic words, she justified. Her head swirled with the taste of regret and words to be said. She took an ounce of courage from the ounce of liquid consumed – and made her way to Delia's room. Seconds, she hoped, could be all it took to forgive.

The harsh air in the hallway sobered Trixie. Her body rattled in time with her thoughts. What could she say that would atone for what was already said? Trixie had tried, during the walk home, to understand her own reaction to the revelation. The harshness, the implications of her words – hurt was her only justification. _And so_ , she had hurt Patsy in turn.

Trixie saw the artificial light creep from under the door. She moved forward until her shadow eclipsed the orange glow.

But as Trixie placed her hand over the door handle, she heard it. The unmistakable sound of sex: heavy breathing, soft moans, the contact and release of skin on skin. She paused, flushed, afraid the sound of creaking floorboards would reveal her presence. She slowly released her hand from the brass. The liberation of her skin and the sound of the handle shifting back in place seemed deafening. She caught her breath, afraid to add her own breathing to the cacophony of sounds. She heard the soft cry of Patsy's name, stifled and hushed. "Shh, sweetheart", Patsy whispered. Trixie released her breath. They hadn't heard her, she thought, relieved.

She took a step back, the floorboard whimpered. Silence. Trixie froze in mid-stride, her hand glaciated in the night air. She couldn't make her escape, she thought; her footsteps would surely be heard in the muteness. Patsy would find her, spying again, prying into matters that were none of her business. Trixie's internal panic screamed at her to run. But then – she heard lips meet and pull apart in quick succession, breathing less shallow, heavier. She crept backwards, wincing with every creak in the floor.

Once safe in her room Trixie covered herself in bed covers, her cheeks still flushed. Everything had changed and nothing had changed, she thought. Patsy was still escaping their room in the early morning hours. Trixie was still escaping herself in the contents of a bottle. _But_ , thought Trixie, thinking of how easily Patsy had shrugged off the night's events, _only one of them was hurt. Only one of them was alone._

Trixie held the bottle close. Just to dull the pain, she justified.

* * *

Barbara lunged from her slumber, her eyes wide, forehead moistened with sweat. She gasped and clenched her bed covers, her fists whitening at the knuckle.

Her reaction caused Phyllis to bolt upright in a similar fashion. Her pink hair rollers lunged forward, dangling precariously over her brow. "What on earth is wrong?" croaked Phyllis – her voice had not quite awoken at the same speed as her body. She stared at Barbara, rollers banging against her forehead as she nodded her head in agitated expectation. " _Well?_ "

Barbara appeared startled. Not even the ridiculousness of Phyllis' head-gear could shake her from it. Phyllis could creak out of bed, with full bodied undergarments clinging to her lumpy frame, and it still wouldn't shake Barbara out of her expression (though witnessing this was always Barbara's favourite part of the morning). Barbara bought her bed covers to her neck, as if to conceal her panicked thoughts.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Phyllis - a voice of concern, expression of disapproval. "You're all clammy... it's most unattractive this early in the morning."

"Sorry to wake you Phyllis, it was just a nasty dream." said Barbara, panting.

"Right," said Phyllis, eyeing Barbara suspiciously. She rose from the bed, undergarments clinging. Barbara smirked, breaking her expression – she had misjudged the power of Nurse Crane in her delicates.

Phyllis turned to face Barbara. Barbara looked away, spotting an invisible fly on the windowsill. "If any of your friends are also under the weather this morning, they needn't think I'm covering their shifts," she said, gathering her toiletries. "You, Ms Gilbert, are quite fortunate that you're not rostered until this evening!" accused Phyllis, finger pointing.

* * *

Patsy woke, mid snore, to the sound of knocking. Dazed, she took in her surroundings. She rose suddenly- she was in Delia's room, beside Delia. In nothing but her underwear.

Patsy shook Delia awake as three more knocks brushed against the wooden frame. Delia and Patsy stumbled out of bed. Patsy ferociously looked for the previous night's clothing, tossing random objects in her wake. _This is it_ , she thought, _the end._

"Ah, who is it?" asked Delia, throwing discarded pyjamas to Patsy. Such was her panic that Patsy suddenly lost all memory of how to wear pants. She held them up in bewildered confusion.

"Hurry up!" mouthed Delia as she covered herself with a dressing gown.

"It's Barbara," came a whisper from behind the door. "I need to talk to you."

Delia let out a sigh of relief and moved toward the whisper, much to Patsy's dismay. Patsy wrapped herself in the pyjama top. "No!" she mouthed, still thinking of escaping out the second story window. Sure, a broken leg would hurt, she thought, but not as much as homelessness in London's winter weather.

Delia opened the door. Barbara stared at a flustered Patsy - clumsily buttoning up her pyjama top. Patsy composed herself and stood straight, buttons askew. At least she managed to put pants on, thought Delia.

"Barbara, I am here because... I needed to ask Delia for something," said Patsy, eyes panicked.

Barbara arched her eyebrows, "okay..."

"Yes, well then," Patsy turned to Delia. "so can I have the thing? That I asked for when I came in just moments earlier?" asked Patsy, her voice broken like a teenage boy.

Delia found it all very amusing. "And what thing would that be, sweetheart?"

Patsy's whiter than white complexion turned a pinker shade of pink – matched only by the colour forming on Barbara's cheeks. "Sorry?" stumbled Patsy. She glanced at Barbara briefly - reassuringly, then back to her girlfriend in wide eyed horror.

Delia shifted nervously. It was not a slip of the tongue. Delia had thought that if she informed Patsy of her indiscretion in a nonchalant way then maybe she would just laugh it off. But seeing Patsy's expression, Delia realised her plan was futile.

Barbara was as uncomfortable with the growing tension as she was with the open affection. She decided, as a lover and not a fighter, she preferred the latter. "It's okay Pats, I know", she said, smiling uneasily.

"Know _what?_ " asked Patsy. She turned to Delia for answers.

"About _us_ , Cariad," said Delia, softly. Patsy looked at Delia like she had just sneezed in her champagne. She rushed to the door and closed it abruptly, bracing herself against it's frame.

"I'm fine with it, I really am," said Barbara, placing a hand on Patsy's arm.

Barbara watched Patsy watch Delia. Her face was red with embarrassment and rage.

"Look," said Barbara, "obviously you didn't know that I know, I can see that's a bone of contention between the two of you." Barbara removed her hand from Patsy's arm and placed it on her own hip, like a teapot with a broken spout. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to just... carry on!"

The tone and unusual frankness of Barbara's words caused Patsy to break her non-reciprocal eye contact with Delia. She turned to Barbara. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, I know it's rather unbecoming of me," said Barbara, "but I really do insist, I have a much more pressing issue and I need your advice." Barbara sat on the edge of the bed and readjusted her dressing gown. "As experts in the field, that is."

 _Experts in the field?_ thought Delia. She wondered if Barbara needed a lesson in achieving a fuller fringe.

"What is it, Barbara?" asked Patsy, curtly.

Barbara shifted closer to the end of the bed. "Well you know last night?" she paused, as if the previous night had been so flippant that the two women could not recall it.

"Yes," confirmed Delia. "It feels like it was just yesterday." Patsy smirked begrudgingly.

"It appears as though I may have..." Barbara blushed and looked at her nails, as if just realising their existence.

" _what_ Barbara?" asked Patsy impatiently, she was in no mood for polite banter.

Barbara looked to Patsy, her brow creased in worry. "A date," she said, at last, throwing herself on the bed. "Oh I'm so embarrassed!"

Patsy's jaw dropped, Delia roared with laughter.

"Don't, it's not funny," muffled Barbara into the bed sheets.

Delia sat next to Barbara's slumped body, still laughing. "Lara I presume?" she asked, patting Barbara's back.

Barbara turned over, her sweaty fringe plastered to her red forehead. "And _I'm the one who asked her_ ," she sulked. "I didn't know she was... so inclined... she looked normal." Barbara raised her head, "no offence."

"Oh none taken," said Patsy, sarcastically. She smiled, breaking her feigned annoyance. At least Barbara had taken the news of their relationship, of what they were, reasonably well... for a _normal_ person.

Barbara's head slumped back on the bed. "I had forgotten all about it. But this morning, I was thinking of all the things that happened last night and... well, _what am I going to do?"_ she pleaded.

Patsy sighed and joined the two women. "When is this date?"

Barbara groaned. "Today, at 1pm. We are meeting for tea and then seeing _To Kill A Mockingbird_ at the cinema." She frowned, close to tears.

"Drink - then a movie..." nodded Delia, "that's practically going steady," she laughed. Patsy hit her with a pillow.

Barbara turned over again, mimicking a dying star fish. She gasped for air, face buried in the sheets.

"Delia's just being a deviant," said Patsy, shooting her girlfriend a look of disapproval. "Believe it or not Barbara, but women _like Lara_ , are capable of being around a nice girl like you... without kissing them senseless. I don't recall Delia or I making advances, do you?"

"No," groaned Barbara into the mattress.

"I'm sure you'll find Lara would make a most wonderful friend. Nothing more."

Delia smiled at Patsy, she was always so sensible. The smile was not returned, she noted.

"You really think so?" asked Barbara, turning over. "And she wouldn't expect anything more?" She sat crossed legged and looked to the two women, hopeful.

"Patsy and I had no expectation other than friendship; there's no reason why Lara wouldn't be the same," said Delia, suddenly sensible.

Barbara nodded, "yes of course, how silly of me."

"Of course that ended when Pats groped me in the hospital laundry."

"Oh Lord," Barbara braced herself, hands on her thighs, slightly hyperventilating.

"I was just trying to get past," Patsy protested, "it was a tight space!"

Delia shook her head, 'it wasn't' she mouthed. Patsy pushed her down to the bed.

"Don't listen to her Barbara, you'll be fine," said Patsy, pinning Delia with one hand.

Barbara smirked at the playful affection displayed between her two friends - in between sudden bouts of winded gasping.

Barbara concentrated on slowly maintaining her breath. It enabled her to reflect. She couldn't stand the poor girl up, she knew. Barbara was not a girl who broke promises, nor hearts. _And_ it would give her the opportunity to understand how her friends felt toward each other. Barbara knew that such personal questions were rude, but the Lord was unlikely to answer her nightly prayers any time soon. He would be much too busy sourcing her silk stockings, she thought.

"Well I am, unfortunately, a woman of manners," said Barbara, once contained. "And a woman who _really_ wants to see the film. I'll just explain that I would very much like to be her friend, but nothing more." She paused, "and I'll stay away from tight spaces."

Barbara stood and addressed Patsy. "Thank you for your advice." Patsy smiled in acknowledgement.

Barbara turned to the Welsh woman, "and Delia?"

"Yes?" Delia giggled, aware of how adorably unhelpful she had been.

"You need to wash those sheets."

Delia blushed immediately. Patsy laughed but stopped abruptly, realising she was also implicated.

Barbara swished her way to the door like a sophisticated lady - one who had not teamed a faded dressing gown with unkempt hair. Channelling Joan Crawford (after her excellent insult delivery), she swung the door open but stopped suddenly.

"Still dishevelled I see?" said a fully clothed Phyllis lingering in the door way. Barbara combed her hair down with her fingers.

Phylis looked beyond Barbara to the two women. Their faces were flushed, Phyllis assumed, with the effects of alcohol. "You lot are due downstairs for breakfast," she said, shaking her head. "You're a sight for blind eyes, I tell you," she muttered as she walked back down the hallway. Barbara followed, patting down her hair.

Delia smiled at Patsy, her face apologetic. Patsy walked out the door, ignoring Delia's hand grasping for hers.


	14. Chapter 14

Delia entered the dining quarters and sat in the only chair available - between the judgement of Nurse Crane and the incoherence of Sister Monica Joan. Delia's blotchy eyes and weathered dressing gown were not out of place at the dining table, but Phyllis couldn't help but mutter as Delia sat beside her.

Sister Julienne's eyes wandered the table, silently aghast that women of God were dining with a motley crew of nurses who, frankly, were old enough to know better. Phyllis was certain that if any company were to stumble upon them, they would think they'd entered a halfway house of paupers and vagrants.

Delia looked as though she had just sat through a viewing of _'Old Yeller_.' Patsy looked like the type of person who had enough friends; distinctly unapproachable. Trixie, usually quite talkative at any time of day, had suddenly taken a vow of silence. Barbara sat like a deer in the headlights. Seeing them with their nightclothes and forlorn faces, it would be easy to think that last night, they had been the thirstiest in all of London. Whatever happened, thought Sister Julienne, it was best left unsaid.

Sister Monica Joan, however, had not noticed anything amiss. Too busy was she, staring at the rare appearance of tea cake at breakfast.

"Thank you for joining us Ms Busby" said Sister Julienne.

"Thank you Sister." Delia looked briefly to Patsy. The eye contact was not received.

"Well please enjoy," said the head nun. She motioned for the women to eat.

Sister Monica Joan lunged toward the tea cake, tipping over Delia's cup in the process. Hot tea spilt over Delia's dressing gown and splashed against her exposed skin. Delia stood up with a start, wincing. Patsy stood immediately, ready to tend to the burn, but seeing Trixie's gaze from across the table, she sat just as quickly as she had risen.

Delia noticed the nonchalance and sank to her seat. "It's nothing," she reassured an oblivious, cake-eating nun, "this needs a wash anyway."

Sister Monica Joan nodded, mouth full of cake. "Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin."

 _Sin._ Delia's face crumbled. She looked to Patsy, who took a sudden intense interest in buttering her toast. Barbara checked her wrist for a non-existent watch. Trixie consumed a heaped spoonful of porridge. Sister Julienne watched them all with bewildered interest.

Sister Monica Joan finished her mouthful and addressed the table. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."

Barbara laughed loudly, forcefully. "Oh Sister Monica Joan! You must have a quote for all things known to man ... How about socks?" She paused. "Because I have this theory that they were invented by someone with the surname of Sock." Barbara reached over for the jam. "Now my only flaw in this theory is that I have never met any person with such a last name." She looked to Sister Monica Joan, "perhaps it has biblical origins?"

The last thing Barbara wanted to hear over breakfast was Sister Monica Joan's rambling over religion and clothing accessories, but she was about to go on 'a date' with a woman and was nervous enough. Hearing about sin would surely lead her to break down and confess to the whole table.

"A test, how joyous!" exclaimed Sister Monica Joan, looking to the sky for answers. She smiled and bounced excitedly in her chair, "Yes!... The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them. Thus it was He!" She clapped.

Barbara nodded, "The Lord invented socks... of course." She took a sip of tea.

"And of course, the divine wisdom of Genesis 38:14... 'so she removed her widow's garments..."

Trixie choked on her porridge, the image of women 'removing garments' had caused her to flash back to the events of the last night. Moistened oats flew across the table and landed in Phyllis' tea. "Oh gosh, I'm awfully sorry," remarked Trixie, wiping her mouth with a linen napkin, "I'm afraid it went down the wrong way." She smiled at Phyllis remorsefully. Though successful in removing the remnants of breakfast, she could not remove the blush forming on her face. Patsy took a break from re-buttering her toast to eye Trixie suspiciously. Trixie avoided looking at her, unsure if she was able to do so with a straight face... so to speak.

"Well I certainly hope that you lot are fit for duty today, we certainly cannot afford any _accidents_ "... Phyllis spooned the oats from her tea, "happening on the field."

"I'm sure the girls will adhere to their duties with their usual expertise and... usual appearance," noted Sister Julienne.

Suddenly self-conscious, Trixie checked her appearance with the back of a spoon. Though in her nightclothes, her quick up-do and oriental pyjamas ensured she still looked fabulous, despite how she felt. Delia, in contrast, dabbed at her tea-soaked dressing gown with a napkin. She glanced apologetically at the head nun, ignoring her will to wring the napkin back into her cup.

"Yes of course," reassured Patsy, ashamed at her rare lack of professionalism.

"Ms Franklin," addressed Sister Julienne, "I understand you and Ms Giblert saw a film last night?

Phyllis scoffed, she doubted very much that the two women's appearance was caused by the latest showing of _Gone With The Wind_. Sure it was a long film, but it would have allowed for at least _some_ sleep. The nurses looked like the walking dead! Phyllis was aware that all eyes were upon her, but frankly, she didn't give a damn. She took a sip of spoiled tea and grimaced at the taste.

" _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , was it?" asked Sister Julienne, ignoring Nurse Crane's lack of decorum.

Barbara looked to Trixie in panic. Trixie took another mouthful of porridge, gesturing with her hands that she would answer as soon as she could. "Yes, we did!" interrupted Barbara with loud urgency. "It was just as good as the book, I must say." She glanced reassuringly at the blonde, "I'm sure Trixie slept through most of it though. Romance films are more to her liking I should think."

Sister Julienne nodded, "so what were your thoughts on the film, Ms Franklin?"

"Hmm?" Trixie continued chewing already dissolved oats.

"The film, did you enjoy it?"

Trixie swallowed, hard. "Yes, it was splendid." Sister Julienne smiled, waiting ... "Ah, it really captured the spirit of the American Scouts with great enthusiasm."

A silence filled the room. Trixie basked in a misguided air of confidence. Barbara died right there in her chair. "And that poor Mockingbird," Trixie continued, winking at a corpse-like Barbara.

Barbara regained her ability to breathe and laughed with superfluous volume and urgency. It caused Sister Monica Joan to shift her seat back slightly, afraid her madness was contagious.

"Trixie, you're a riot!" exclaimed Barbara, her hand flopped at the wrist.

"It seems the film really did cause Trixie to slumber," reassured Patsy, her mouth curled harshly at the edge. It was evident to her that Trixie's deliberate show of ignorance was an act of sabotage.

"Yes," agreed Barbara, "I think she saw the film poster, heard a lead character's name and put the plot together in her head!" she laughed. "I'm just glad we didn't see _The Philadelphia Story!_ Trixie would think it a biography of cream cheese!"

Whilst Sister Monica Joan's ears pricked up in sudden interest, Trixie seethed. She may not have seen the film but at least she had tried to act like she had. She swallowed her anger, washing it down with another spoonful of porridge.

Barbara addressed the table, keen to re-direct the interrogation. "It might be fun if we all came up with a funny little summary for famous films!" The young midwife could see that her fellow diners would rather eat cuisine prepared by Sister Monica Joan but persisted regardless. "Nurse Crane, would you like to start?"

Phyllis looked at Barbara as though she had asked whether the older nurse had ever considered a more flattering undergarment. "No?" Barbara gulped.

"And how is your mother, Ms Busby?" asked the head nun and saviour of the breakfast table.

Delia held a morose fascination with the luke-warm tea that remained in her cup. Sister Julienne noted she had been stirring it's contents since the spill. Phyllis kicked the Welsh woman's foot, motioning toward an expectant Sister.

"Sorry?" asked Delia.

"Your mother? How is she keeping? I'm sure she misses you dearly."

"Yes," said Delia, slightly panicked, still stirring. "She's well. Still reminding me of the differences between Wales and London," she said, taking a quick glance toward Patsy. Though the briefest of moments, it was not missed by the Sister - Delia's frightened need for reassurance from the always composed midwife.

"And I trust you reassured Mrs Busby that we are taking good care of her daughter, Ms Mount?"

"Of course Sister," Patsy smiled, "but be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." Patsy had remained her calm and composed self, but there was a slight shift in the eye – a fleeting lack of eye contact, that left Sister Julienne unconvinced.

"Mothers learn to mark their mothering success by their daughter's lengthening flight," commented Sister Monica Joan, stealing another piece of cake. "Yes, quite," agreed Sister Julienne.

Barbara studied Sister Julienne as she took a break from her inquisition to pour a cup of tea. Though the nun had exemplary poker face, Barbara's intuition led her to believe that she was suspect of all four women. She giggled nervously, believing her indiscretion to be marked on her forehead. She rubbed at it with the sleeve of her dressing gown.

Trixie stared at Barbara in slight shock, Barbara had gone mad, she thought. And soon enough, the whole table joined Trixie in a curious fascination with Barbara's antics. Such was the scene that Delia stopped stirring her tea. Phyllis' brow creased in disappointment, it was evident that Barbara was still suffering the effects of last night.

Realising the surveillance, Barbara ceased the rubbing of her forehead and smiled weakly. "I have a tension headache it seems."

"Nothing relieves tension like an honest day's work" remarked Phyllis, determined that Barbara would see her shift through.

"Indeed. It seems I am not used to such late nights," said Barbara, watching curiously as Sister Monica Joan made a beeline toward her, piece of fruit in hand.

The eccentric nun had recognised Barbara's descent into madness, and, believing her own rattled thoughts to be aided by the consumption of food, she had taken a banana from the fruit bowl to offer the brunette. There were no apples to keep the doctor away, but surely the banana, in it's stunted growth, would offer a pleasing alternative to keep the demons at bay.

"Lady finger?" she asked, presenting the fruit proudly.

The innuendo caused Delia to choke. She attempted to stifle a laugh by drinking from her tea but but instead it spat from her mouth like a sprinkler. Remnants landed on Phyllis' face. Patsy too, could not contain herself. Head lowered, she laughed as silently as she could. Her cheeks attempted to suck the laughter in, but the exaggeration of her heaving shoulders failed her.

Barbara held the banana limply. Though mortified, she too, could not suppress a smirk. Delia uttered endless, giggled, apologies to an increasingly angered Phyllis. And Trixie, _at last_ , realised what had accounted for Barbara's odd behaviour; innuendo was her specialty after all. She smiled but masked it quickly, noting Sister Julienne's measured scrutiny.

* * *

Trixie found Barbara in her room, contemplating the clothes laid out on her bed. She leaned against the door frame, observing Barbara as she matched a blouse against two different skirts.

"At first I thought you were drunk," said Trixie, Barbara turned toward her voice. "You were rambling on about socks again."

Barbara shot Trixie a look of disapproval.

"But _you know_ , don't you?" asked the blonde.

"About what?"

"You know very well!" accused Trixie, closing the door.

"If you are referring to Patsy and Delia, then yes, I know."

" _And?"_

"And what?"

Trixie took the blouse from Barbara and placed it back in her wardrobe. "Brown is not your colour Barbara... or anyone's." Trixie scattered her fingers along the coat hangers, then paused. "Please tell me you were nice about it?" She looked to Barbara. "What am I saying? Of course you were. You're practically Florence Nightingale."

Barbara smiled at the compliment. "I needn't ask the same of you I assume?"

Trixie sat on the bed and sighed. "The endlessly cheerful, always accepting, Nurse Franklin?" Barbara enquired, hopeful.

"I'm a bloody fool!" said Trixie, quietly.

" _Oh Trixie_ ," whispered Barbara. She sat next to the blonde.

"I was positively ghastly. The things I said. I'm afraid Patsy will never forgive me."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Trixie. Perhaps the shock of it..."

Trixie shook her head. "I was awful. _Am_ awful."

"But why? You're always so accepting of others."

"I don't know," said Trixie, her head lowered, "perhaps it's because of who she is. Or _who I am_. Perhaps I'm a bigot."

Barbara stood and addressed her. "I don't think that's true Trixie, and I'm positive that neither do you." She placed her hands on her hips. "If I were to tell you I was about to spend an afternoon with a lady of homosexual nature, what would be your first instinct?"

Trixie laughed, "that you really are a lush! And an easily impressionable one at that!"

Trixie noticed that blush come over Barbara's face, then looked to the outfits laid beside her. "You're not!" Trixie exclaimed, her mouth opened so widely that Barbara could see her tonsils.

"Inadvertently," confessed the brunette. "But's it's your fault! I didn't know it was a bar full of women _who like women!_ I would never have asked otherwise!"

Barbara waited seven years, she estimated, for Trixie to finish laughing (she had an invisible wrist watch after all).

Trixie composed herself and practiced her serious face. "You're not scared?" she asked.

"I'm terrified! But any opportunity for friendship... and I'll explain to Lara that's all there will ever be." Barbara sighed. "The poor girl, It's going to break her heart."

Trixie sat back, her hands supporting her frame. "Oh I'm sure she'll muster the courage to reach old age, Casanova," she winked.

Barbara ignored Trixie's teasing. "And perhaps she'll give me some insight into how poor Pats and Deils must be feeling. I confess, I didn't quite know what to say about the revelation. I still don't."

Trixie rose to her feet, a look of contemplation on her face. "Let me come with you," she demanded.

"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Barbara. "Lara is not a zoo animal to be gawked at!"

"You're getting mighty defensive of your girlfriend, Barbara!"

Barbara took a scarf from her wardrobe and threw it at Trixie. It floated down just inches from Barbara's disappointed face.

Trixie rose from the bed and approached the brunette. "Look, I just want to understand their relationship. And my own reaction, of course. At this stage I'm even willing to take advice from Sister Monica Joan!" Trixie looked to Barbara pleadingly, "but I assume a lady-loving-lady would perhaps have more insight?"

Barbara furrowed her brow.

"Unless you want some alone time with... Lara, is it?"

Barbara groaned, her arms exaggeratedly leapt in the air then fell to her side. "Fine!"

Trixie clapped excitedly.

Barbara took another shirt from her wardrobe and placed it on the bed. She stood back and admired it. "But aren't you on shift soon? Phyllis is in a foul mood, I doubt she'll make allowances."

Trixie joined Barbara in studying the outfit, "I'll just explain that I'm helping you explore your feminine side." Trixie gave the brunette a knowing nudge. Barbara gave a harder nudge in return. It caused Trixie to brace herself against the wardrobe. "If you're making fun, " laughed Barbara, "you're not coming!"

Trixie examined her shoulder for bruising.

Barbara frowned at the outfit. She turned to her wardrobe once more, "now, what on earth do we wear to an afternoon with a lesbian?"

The two women stared at the contents of the wardrobe.

"Do you have any plaid?"


	15. Chapter 15

Trixie exited Sister Julienne's office to find Barbara leaning against the adjacent wall. She continued fixing the collar of her plaid shirt then looked to Trixie expectantly. Barbara's forehead creased in confusion at the crestfallen look cemented on Trixie's face.

"Nurse Crane is already at the clinic, I'm afraid."

Barbara smiled in relief. "Not to worry," she said, "I'll be sure to pass on any words of enlightenment."

Trixie entwined her arm in Barbara's, "but Sister Julienne has offered to find a suitable replacement. So I'm all yours." Trixie said the words quietly, but conveyed her enthusiasm with an exaggerated smile. "And Lara's, if you're willing to share."

Barbara's smile faded. "How on earth did you manage that?" she asked, ignoring the latter comment.

Trixie motioned Barbara toward the front door. "My youthful charm and exuberance, I'm sure," laughed the blonde, before swiftly descending into contemplation. It was not lost on Barbara. "Is everything alr..."

"I've only been awarded the liberty of a few hours, so we best hurry," interrupted Trixie, as she led the way out and onto the streets of Poplar.

* * *

Patsy 'The Great Avoider of Confrontation,' breathed a sigh of relief. Trixie was absent from their room. _Perhaps she's avoiding me too_ , thought Patsy; _dressing and undressing away from my deviant eyes._

Though habitually a meticulous dresser, Patsy quickly adorned her uniform and applied much less lacquer to her hair than usual. Ordinarily she would have relished using the mirror without Trixie inching her way into the reflection, but the blonde was not the only nurse Patsy wished to avoid this morning.

Patsy turned to face the room, ready to close the door. She paused her hand over the door knob, spotting a prism of light in the near distance. Resting below Trixie's bed and slightly obscured by the bedside table, she found Trixie's little secret; a bottle of gin. Patsy held it level to her eyes, measuring what remained. " _Oh Trixie_ ", she sighed, her forehead tense.

Trixie may not have reacted well to the revelation, but level-headed, perfectly calm in a crisis Patsy, knew that her own reaction now could save her friend; whether Trixie considered her as such or not.

She crept into the bathroom like a keeper of secrets; silent and cunning. She watched the liquid disappear as she poured it down the sink. A slight numbness overcame her, as if she had consumed the very alcohol that was now burrowing it's way through the pipes of London.

In mere seconds the contents had disappeared. Patsy thought of the blonde, drinking alone in the midnight hours. She wondered how long it would take Trixie to 'disappear' the alcohol. Patsy had not known the extent of the problem until Trixie had confessed. She had ignored all the signs, perhaps willingly. She liked her friend the way she was. Perhaps she hadn't wanted her to change.

 _Perhaps_ this fear of change had also accounted for Trixie's reaction, she thought. Things wouldn't be the same, she knew. Despite rehearsing her own confession in her head a million times, despite imagining all possible scenarios – the good and bad, the friendship had never returned to what it once was. Even in her dreams. And now in reality.

A knock at the door caused Patsy to flinch. She hid the empty bottle in the medicine cabinet.

"Who is it?"

"Ms Mount, it's Sister Julienne. I wonder if I might have a word?" Her voice, though calm and concealed as always, had caused a sense of dread to rise in the midwife. The head nun had never wanted a private word before; it had always been Patsy who initiated such formal meetings.

 _Nothing_ will return to what it once was, she thought. Sobering reality crept further into view.

Patsy braced herself against the porcelain, her hands clenched at it's side. She stared into the sink, wishing she had not poured all the courage down the drain.

* * *

Delia knocked on Patsy's door. She waited for the sounds of life inside the room to reassure her - that she had not been abandoned in a morning such as this. But Delia could hear nothing but the odd creaking of Nonnatus House. The same soft knocking she could hear in the dead of night, or whenever the house inhabitants had absconded and taken their noise with them. It was akin, Delia now realised, to a death rattle. A howling of spirits soon to pass. Delia shivered, crept the door open and peeked inside. She had hoped to find her girlfriend standing at the mirror, far too focused on fixing her hair to hear the Welsh woman's shy knock, but the room was bare. Delia sighed. She would not get a customary peck on the cheek goodbye; a sign that all was forgotten.

Delia collected her nursing kit, placed a banana between her teeth and proceeded to the front door. But just as she was fishing her umbrella from the stand, she heard a door creak open. She looked to it's source. She watched as Patsy exited Sister Julienne's office; her face pale and sickly. The banana dropped from her mouth.

Delia registered the look on Patsy's face. It shifted from cold aloofness to unbridled despair as she caught wind of the brunette's surveillance. The fear in her eyes, Delia had seen it before. It was a look given when Patsy spoke of the consequences of what they were; when she shared Delia's bed and heard a footstep in the hallway. But the look was heightened now; grey, severe... real. Delia was about to run to her; to heal the pain with an embrace, but stopped upon sighting the head nun in the doorway.

Delia stood, unable to move or speak. She looked on, as helpless as a mere witness, as Patsy turned from her watch and exited the front door. Delia stared at the space her girlfriend once held and waited for the inevitable; _Ms Busby? A word_...

Delia could see Sister Julienne in her peripheral, a hazy figure approaching her. She held her breath.

The death rattle hummed around her.

"Ms Busby?"

"Sister?" she breathed, her gaze steadfast on the exit.

"You look unwell. At breakfast you seemed not quite yourself. Is everything alright?"

Delia looked to Sister Julienne and released her breath. "Everything is fine Sister. I just realised the time. I must run if I'm not to be late."

Without waiting for a response, Delia ran to the door, leaving Sister Julienne to pick up the banana she had left in her wake. The head nun held it in her hand, unable to grasp why the Nurses, and Delia in particular, had found them so humorous. She turned as Delia slammed the door behind her.

The Nurse's reaction raised further suspicion from the nun. Delia's odd behaviour, her urgency to reach Patsy, their unashamed closeness... Sister Julienne watched the space once occupied by both women; a heavy heart anchored her in place.

* * *

Delia searched the exterior of Nonnatus House for Patsy, but the street was merely filled with it's usual occupants: milk men, lorry drivers, kids playing, gossiping mothers. One particularly robust woman, apron hanging from her tight fitting dress, ceased her chatter. A look of concern adorned her face. "Are you alright, Nurse?" she asked the seemingly lost brunette.

"The midwife. Tall woman with red-hair... have you seen her?" Delia asked, hurriedly.

"Yeah," replied the woman's friend. She wore an equally ill-fitting dress but of the opposite spectrum, "she went that way." The woman pointed North.

"She seemed to be in quite a..."

Without further explanation required, or indeed further pleasantries, Delia bolted in the pointed direction...

"Hurry," the woman concluded. She turned to her curvaceous friend and muttered words of disapproval.

Delia ran around the corner, nearly toppling over the milkman in the process. She didn't apologise. She merely slumped in her tracks, unable to see the red-head in the bustle of Poplar. Her heart ached. She imagined her girlfriend in a desolate corner of the city, rocking to and fro in a ball of anxiety. It was a position reserved for stormy nights, reminiscing over a painful childhood. A position that required Delia's embrace to relinquish. She sighed hopelessly.

" _She knows_ " came a familiar voice, at last. A mixture of a first class up-bringing and a sobering reality.

Delia searched her surrounds, unable to spot the sophisticated red-head in the sea of tradesmen and child-carrying women. But then – obscured by the brick railing of a terrace stoop – she saw the familiar wheel of a Midwife's bicycle. She walked toward the darkened metal. Patsy, her posture uncharacteristically hunched-over, came into view. Patsy leaned her body forward, allowing her elbows to rest on her thighs. They seemed to carry the entire physical and emotional burden of the towering red-head. They swayed slightly with the toll.

Delia knelt down in front of her girlfriend, their blue eyes level. She placed her hands on Patsy's knees; both to steady herself and comfort the taller woman. "What does she know?" asked Delia, quietly. She knew the answer, but willed it to be something, _anything_ else.

" _About me_." said Patsy, exhaling the words. "Well about me at Gateways specifically."

Delia let herself fall to the cement. She crouched her legs to her chest. "But how?"

"An anonymous tip from the public apparently, received this morning." Patsy smiled at the brunette, sadly. "I'm sure our antics at the breakfast table would not have weakened her position."

Delia thought back to Barbara's erratic behaviour, and then, to her own initiation of hysterics over Sister Monica Joan's unintended innuendo. She had been the cause of both.

"Patsy, I ..."

"I'm to have a more formal meeting this evening, after my shift." Patsy interrupted, deliberately, aware that Delia would only blame herself. "It would give me time to _coordinate a response,_ as it were."

Delia's eyes grew wide in anger. "So you have to work through a whole shift thinking it could be your last?"

"Sister Julienne did want to replace me, but another midwife had an emergency matter to attend. I simply couldn't be spared, in spite of the circumstances," said Patsy.

Delia shook her head in disbelief. "Surely they need something more than an anonymous tip? Something more than a mere sighting at a club?"

"I suppose speculation of this sort is enough, considering what I do for a living. Where I live." Patsy fought the tears back, determined to be strong, if only for Delia.

"We can deny it," assured Delia, "there are tonnes of women at Gateways. They've simply confused us with others."

" _We?_ _We_ won't be doing anything. It was only my name that was mentioned. I'm the only one accountable. But yes, I've denied it." Patsy looked to the brunette. "As much as it kills me." Her eyes glistened.

Delia looked away, her breath caught. Patsy placed her hand on the brunette's knee, a swift act of reassurance. But it had not reassured the Welsh woman. She was not like Patsy; she did not have the 'stiff upper lip' of the English to mask her. She had always believed that if caught, they would go down together – in a self-righteous blaze of glory. _But now_ , they'd each be alone. Separated, as if accomplices in some grave crime.

And Patsy was right, of course. If she were to come to her aid; to speak passionately in her defence, it would only raise suspicions further. Certainly, if she too, denied her presence at Gateways, despite not being accused of such a thing.

Delia's mouth trembled; she swallowed the rising burn in her throat. "How is this possible?" she asked, her voice broken. "We always go together."

"You're relatively new? Not particularly known in these parts? Perhaps I was the only one recognised?" Patsy shrugged, "I don't know."

Delia shook her head, "No, it doesn't make sense. We have been to Gateways so many times before, why now?"

"The wrong place at the wrong time?"

Delia hung her head in thought, then looked to Patsy. "Or the _wrong person_ at the wrong place... at the right time?" asked Delia, afraid of it's implications.

Patsy sighed, she had thought of the possibility also.

" _Trixie,_ " whispered Delia.

The question hung in the air, low and painful.

"But why not inform on both of us?" asked Delia. Her eyes searched Patsy's face for an answer.

" _I'm the one_ who hurt her? I don't know. I'm not positive Trixie is even capable of such a thing. A grudge? Sure, but this?" Patsy paused, unsure whether to continue. "Barbara, too, is not free from suspicion" she whispered, raising an eyebrow.

Patsy watched as Delia broke down, tears engulfed her face. Perhaps Barbara hadn't been the friend she had hoped for after all, she thought. She had potentially ruined all Patsy had worked for - and all for just a little hope.

Patsy regretted her words and the silent accusation that came with it. She gathered Delia and held her close. "But it doesn't matter now. I'm just glad you were spared." she whispered. "There's nothing quite like the threat of losing what you have to recognise it's worth."

Delia broke from the embrace, "If you lose everything, Pats..." she searched her eyes.

"I won't." Patsy held Delia's hands with her own. "If the worst were to happen, I'd still have you."

"But your job, Pats. Your life here... _with me_. Everything will change."

" _My whole life_ ," said Patsy quietly, slowly, " _is you_. And that won't change."

Patsy pressed her hands firmly against Delia's before releasing them. She smiled reassuringly then turned from the brunette. She gathered her bike and walked it along the cobblestones.

Away now, from her girlfriend's concerned, fearful gaze, Patsy broke. Her smile of reassurance gave way to a series of trembles and gasps. Tears fell from her eyes, harsh against the London wind, as she cycled along the path to work. Perhaps for the last time, she thought.

Delia watched as Patsy disappeared into the distance. The remote click of the bicycle spokes- a death rattle to her ears.


	16. Chapter 16

Trixie dragged Barbara along like a mother tugging a scolded child. Barbara was a mismatch of small stumbles and long strides as she struggled to keep up with the blonde's steady pace.

"Trixie, slow down. We have plenty of time!"

Trixie was too steadfast on her destination to register the brunette's pleas. "Well at least let go of my arm!" yelled Barbara, tackling her battered limb away from Trixie's stronghold. It seemed to break the blonde's rhythm. Trixie stopped, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

"I'm quite able to walk without assistance, thankyou." Barbara smiled, attempting to lighten the nature of Trixie's actions. She rubbed her arm with her free hand.

"I do apologise Barbara, it seems my anxiety has rather gotten the best of me." Trixie inspected Barbara's arm for bruises. She traced along the indent of white finger marks on the young Midwife's skin. "My hand is quite the brute it seems!" She held out her hand to the brunette. "We'll go slow."

Barbara surveilled Trixie's open palm, hesitant to trust her word. "That's a line you can use with Lara," mocked Trixie. "We'll go _incredibly, incredibly_ slow," her voice low with emphasis.

Barbara grabbed hold of Trixie's hand, but not in the manner anticipated by the more experienced Midwife. Barbara used her hand as a clench, squeezing Trixie's hand until it pulsated against her own. The throbbing clearly audible. Trixie lowered her hand, further and further toward the ground, trying desperately to rid herself of Barbara's grasp. Barbara grinned at the feeble attempt.

"Okay, I'm sorry!" pleaded the blonde.

"You'll stop teasing?"

"Yes!" Trixie squealed through clenched teeth, "I'll stop teasing!"

Barbara let go of her hand. Trixie pouted and massaged her fingers. "That was really uncalled for," she protested.

"It seems my hand is also quite the brute," laughed Barbara. Trixie didn't find it funny.

The two women made an unconscious decision to walk a reasonable distance apart. Trixie kept a close eye on Barbara's hands, afraid they would lunge at her when she least expected. She desperately wanted to make a joke about Barbara needing to save her hands for 'other purposes,' now that Lara was on the scene, but she feared the consequences.

"So why are you so anxious, Trixie?" asked Barbara, eyeing Trixie eyeing her hands. "You've been acting strangely since you left Sister Julienne's office."

Trixie increased her pace. She contemplated how to answer the question. She could be honest, or she could tell a lie. She was good at lying after all - she had lied to herself constantly during those last months with Tom. _I can do this_ , she had thought, _I can be the perfect Vicar's wife. I can be this person for the rest of my life_... She ultimately couldn't convince herself, of course. Still, there was an immeasurable difference in lying for a moment and lying for a lifetime, she concluded.

"Well I don't know about you, Barbara, but this is my first double 'date' with a queer. So if you'll forgive my nervousness..." In her contemplation, the words had come out naturally and even-tempered, humorous even. But hearing the words aloud, the strange high-pitched, no-nonsense characteristic of her voice, Trixie grimaced at how brusque it sounded.

"I'm not sure that's a polite term," said Barbara, uncomfortable with the sentiment. "I think that's a word that some like to call _themselves_. But I'm not sure that we can take such liberties. At least I doubt Patsy would like to be referenced as such."

"Yes, quite," agreed Trixie, ashamed at her poor choice of words. Nervousness invaded her bloodstream, she felt suddenly weak in the knees. If Patsy were to forgive her for her current mistake, how many more faux pas was she likely to make before the Patsy ended their friendship completely? Her forehead creased in worry.

"But that's a question we can ask Lara," said Barbara, an attempt to put Trixie at ease. Trixie laughed at the thought.

"Oh splendid, inappropriate question number one! And for the listeners at home... what is inappropriate question number two?" asked Trixie, highly amused at Barbara's intention for the afternoon.

"Well I don't know," protested Barbara, "I mean surely you have questions? Ones that you definitely couldn't ask Patsy and Delia?"

Ordinarily Barbara would be right. Under usual circumstances Trixie would have an entire list - and would be completely unashamed to ask, particularly after a tipple. But try as she might, the presence of merely one looming question invaded her thoughts. "Will you forgive me? is the only one that springs to mind," sighed Trixie. " _For everything_."

Barbara took hold of Trixie's hand; a much softer gesture than her previous attempt. "Patsy knows that you're a good person... a _good friend_ , who simply said something bad. Something you regret. I'm sure she has it in her heart to forgive. And what better place to forgive than at Nonnatus House?"

 _Nonnatus House_ , contemplated the blonde, the abode of Nuns, religion, preaching, _truth_. Trixie kicked a stone along the street. "I did something," she said, in a whisper.

"Sorry?" asked Barbara.

"This morning, in Sister Julienne's office. I panicked. I said something I shouldn't have."

Barbara's mouth inched open in curiosity. "What did you..."

"Barbara!" came a remote voice. Barbara turned to see a petite blonde in the distance, waving her hands at the two women.

Barbara looked to Trixie. The blonde midwife smiled and nodded her head in Lara's direction, an invitation to proceed.

Trixie swallowed the shame rising in her throat and smiled animatedly. As she and Barbara approached the petite woman, Trixie noticed her features for the first time. Their initial, fleeting meeting, had been under the harsh orange glow of a street lamp. She had thought her pretty, but nothing more, too focused was she on her friend's indiscretion at the time. But approaching the other blonde, Trixie could see the flawlessness of her skin, the impeccable yet understated make-up, the way her dress was perfectly tailored to her tiny frame. It was enough to make Trixie forget about her earlier wrongdoings. At least momentarily.

Barbara too, had only known Lara within the darkened light of _Gateways_. She was surprised at her femininity, her fashion consciousness... her lack of plaid. She glanced sideways at Trixie, then back to Lara. In fact, she thought, Lara bore a stunning resemblance to Trixie.

Trixie nudged Barbara's rib with her elbow. "Well done old girl, she's gorgeous!"

Barbara laughed. She was, thought Barbara. And for some reason, that made her proud.

* * *

Patsy found it impossible to concentrate. Though the usual routine of the clinic seemed blessedly self-sustainable; expectant mothers gathered their tonics, babies were held out for examination, toddlers wreaked havoc on the ordered displays of supplements; Patsy found she was unable to comprehend tasks she had performed for years.

"Excuse me for just a moment would you Mrs Smith?" asked Patsy, medicine in hand. The new mother rolled her eyes as she cradled a writhing baby in her arms.

Patsy found Phyllis in an adjacent space, measuring a newborn. "Sorry to interrupt Nurse Crane, but I seem to have forgotten the ratio of medicine to weight for newborns. Could you enlighten me?" Phyllis creased her brow at the red-head, ready to protest that she was experienced enough to know the precise calculation. But much to Patsy's relief, Phyllis' professional duty took over. She answered sternly.

"Thank you Phyllis," said Patsy, smiling in appreciation. Phyllis narrowed her eyes at the red-head. "I mean Nurse Crane, of course. Momentary lapse of judgement."

"I should think so," said Phyllis. She glanced apologetically at the waiting mother.

Patsy inched her way out of the room, then returned to her station. "Sorry to keep you waiting, one can never be too sure with these things," she reassured the increasingly impatient mother. Patsy collected the medicine with a feeding syringe then administered the correct dosage. There was no need to exchange pleasantries upon completion, it was evident that neither woman could muster the pretence.

Patsy ventured into the waiting area and took in the sight before her. Awaiting her expertise was a seemingly never-ending line of expectant and newly blessed mothers; her stomach dropped. Patsy was unsure of how she could _breathe_ through the day, let alone be an actual functioning human-being. One that vulnerable people relied on for medical advice, no less.

"I'll be just a moment," she said, to no patient in particular.

Patsy walked briskly outside and braced herself against the brickwork. She searched her pocket for a cigarette. Finding one, she lit it up immediately and took a long, deep drag. Patsy exhaled in relief. "Some loss of a Nurse you'll be," she whispered into the crisp morning air.

* * *

As if in some unspoken solidarity with her girlfriend, Delia spent the morning in a daze. Though usually happy to engage with the various men who entered the ward, Delia fixed their dressings and tended to their wounds in relative silence.

"You alright love?" asked an elderly gentleman, his head propped up by multiple pillows. Delia didn't hear him. She finished re-applying his bandages.

"Now is there anything else I can do for you Mr Chisolm?" Delia registered the look of concern on his face, then matched it with her own. "Yes," he said, "you can tell me what you've done with my lovely, cheerful Nurse Busby!"

Delia smiled half-heartedly. "I'm rather afraid an imposter has taken over her body, Mr Chisolm. You're stuck with grouchy Nurse Busby today. So you needn't ask me for a cigarette!" she scolded, in feigned rigidity.

Mr Chisolm leaned forward, conspiratorially. He motioned Delia closer. "Your body's been taken over, you say? Happened to me once, in my Navy days." Mr Chisolm eyed her knowingly, like they were part of some secret society. "There are aliens among us," he said, pointing his finger.

Delia smiled at him, then backed away. "I might just see how your medicine is coming along." She placed a warm hand on his frail body then made her way to the break room.

The moment had caused her to smile, briefly, but the frown that followed was instantaneous.

* * *

 _Author Note 2:_

 _\- No, Barbara is not falling for a woman._


	17. Chapter 17

Barbara made polite apologies for Trixie's presence; "she simply insisted on tagging along!" Trixie attempted a polite smile, but a grimace adorned her face. _Don't embarrass me in front of the pretty lesbian_ , thought Trixie, through gritted teeth. Lara was officially the most exotic creature she had ever 'met.' She imagined her as an accessory on her arm at parties. Lara would be an excellent conversation starter, as would Trixie's selfless acceptance.

Trixie contemplated her thoughts, it's distinct parallel to her reaction toward poor Patsy. Her smile faded. _Acceptance_ , she concluded, was easy when there were no secrets, when it didn't involve your best friend... _when it's all about you_.

Lara had been comparatively polite in welcoming 'the third wheel.' "Well, the more the merrier!" she said, smiling at the women. Trixie matched Lara's acting abilities; she replaced her frown with an enthusiastic smile.

The three women sat hastened away in a corner of a French Deli. The seating was Barbara's idea, thankful for the relative privacy. She had practically run to secure the table. It was positioned so far removed from the front counter, and indeed other patrons, that Trixie wondered whether she would have to order via telegram.

"Well," said Trixie, "why would I want the rustic beauty of provincial France, when I could have the back alley of provincial Poplar?" Lara laughed;Trixie racked her brain for further humorous anecdotes. But then she saw the adoring way Lara looked at Barbara as she tried to find the source of their wobbling table. _And so_ Trixie thought better of voicing her wit; it would all be at Barbara's expense after all.

Barbara attempted to mask her annoyance at Trixie's comment _. Don't embarrass me in front of the pretty lesbian_ , she thought, as she feigned an intense interest in the symmetry of furniture. She concluded that the table wobble was due to an uneven floor, and, Lara concluded that she approved of Barbara's plaid shirt; it matched her 'handy around the home' attitude.

Barbara dove under the table, thankful for the respite. Trixie physically bit her tongue, _I will not make any jokes about Barbara being under the table_... Barbara placed a napkin under a table leg to better secure it in place. "There, that should do the trick," she said. She rose to meet her seat... and hit her head on the table. The thump of her head caused the table to jump and cutlery to spill on the floor.

"Oh my gosh, Barbara, are you alright?" asked Lara. She assisted the brunette in collecting the cutlery.

"I'm fine, just a clutz I'm afraid."

"Well it's adorable."

Barbara giggled for longer than necessary. She sat down and busied herself with the menu. "Ooh, soup of the day- cream of asparagus. That sounds nice."

Barbara hated asparagus.

With Barbara's face hidden by the menu, Lara contemplated Trixie's presence. "You're the woman from last night..." It was a statement, not a question, but Trixie confirmed it with unbridled enthusiasm nonetheless. "Yes, that was me!" she exclaimed.

"So, did you tell her how you feel?"

"Sorry?"

"The girl you were upset about; she was seeing someone behind your back?"

"Oh... Patsy," sighed Trixie. "It didn't turn out as planned."

"I'm sorry," said Lara, her forehead creased in sympathy. "This is going to be most unhelpful but I'll persist nonetheless." She placed a hand on the table for emphasis. "A beautiful woman like you should have no problem finding another girl." Lara blushed at her own forwardness, though not as deeply as Trixie and _Barbara._ Trixie had blushed from the compliment, Barbara from mortification of having to break the news. To the approaching waiter, the three women looked as though they had just returned from a sunburnt fortnight in the Spanish Islands.

Table water was accepted in a fit of nervous shifting and giggles.

"Gosh, I sound like my best friend," exclaimed Lara, breaking the silence that followed. "A beautiful girl like you Lara... There's plenty more fish in the sea! Completely unhelpful when you want to drown in it, of course!"

Barbara thought drowning sounded like a most excellent idea. She had read that drowning was quite a peaceful death. It would mark a blessed contrast to the terror she was currently experiencing.

Barbara offered Lara her menu. Once Lara was distracted by it's contents, Trixie nudged Barbara's side. 'Tell her!' she mouthed.

"Tell her what?" asked Lara, perusing the two women from the top of her menu.

Barbara sighed. "You're going to think me rather horrible."

"I'm sure I'm not capable of such a thing."

The words caused Barbara's blush to return. This would be so much easier if Lara were a horrendous human-being, she thought. Though she doubted they would be meeting for lunch if she were.

* * *

Patsy's shift had not improved. Not only was she behind in appointments, but a mother had managed to berate her for offering a slightly tainted bottle.

Phyllis had found this particularly concerning, considering the tall midwife's exemplary hygienic practices. Phyllis cornered Patsy into an empty examining space.

"What on earth has gotten into you, Ms Mount?"

Phyllis had meant it as a gesture of concern, of a genuine will to dull whatever was troubling the red-head. But given the stress of the day, or perhaps the older Midwife's gruff manner, it came off harsh and accusatory.

"I apologise Nurse Crane," said Patsy, backing herself into a corner. "I'm just a little flustered today."

Phyllis approached her. She sniffed the proximate air for remnants of alcohol. Nothing. "Are you sure everything is okay?" she asked, her manner far more maternal.

Patsy smiled but couldn't extinguish the sadness curling at the edges. "Everything is fine, thankyou Phyllis... Nurse Crane." The words had strained from her mouth, as if they were aching with the same pain she felt throughout her body. She turned away, embarrassed at the emotion escaping from her.

"My dear girl, whatever is the matter?"

"It's nothing," said Patsy, side-stepping the concerned older woman. "We best catch up on our work."

* * *

"So you see," said Barbara, "this has all been a horrible mistake." She registered the pained look on Lara's face.

"Well not horrible, not this part anyway. This has been rather lovely. And, if I'm honest, I really could use a new friend. One who isn't a Nurse." Barbara's tone heightened at the end, as if she was asking Lara for her hand in friendship.

"Oh none taken, I'm sure," remarked Trixie. It caused Lara to smirk slightly, as much as she willed her expression toward ambivalence.

"So the brunette you left with?"

"Delia - Patsy's girlfriend," said Barbara.

"Well," sighed Lara, "I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. You're exactly my type I'm afraid, right down to breaking my heart." Lara laughed but ceased upon seeing Barbara's crestfallen face. "It's okay Barbara, I wasn't even sure this was a date. I hoped of course, but... it seems as though we are both here as friends, and that sounds splendid." She smiled at the two women. "Now, shall we order?"

Lara was thankful for the distraction as the waiter approached; it would help her mask her discontent for a few moments more.

Though Lara and Barbara had ordered with relative ease, Trixie couldn't reach a decision. She was far too focused on why _she_ was not Lara's type. Trixie decided that there was no accounting for taste, and also on French Onion Soup.

"So Lara, you were saying you had a type... when did you first realise that you had this particular type?" asked Trixie.

 _Subtle_ , thought Barbara.

"Are you asking when did I first become interested in adorable brunettes- or when did I first become interested in women?"

Trixie stuttered, taken aback by Lara's forwardness (she was also relieved that it was simply Barbara's hair colour that saw her favoured over the blonde).

"Um, ah... the _women_ part."

Barbara played with her napkin, feigning disinterest.

"I always knew, I guess. When my fellow school chums started taking an interest in boys... I started taking an interest in my fellow school chums. You can imagine how terrified I was!"

"Of being found out?" asked Trixie, her breath catching.

"Yes. Of getting caught. Of falling in love. Of not falling in love. Ever. You see girls like me, we are only a minute part of the population. So, it's extraordinarily lucky when you find another woman who has also taken the courage to be herself, in this day and age. Much less have that woman be someone you're attracted to." Lara played with her cutlery, not daring to look at Barbara. "So when you do find it, _well_ , it's like... finding the end of a rainbow."

Lara smiled at the two women. "Patsy and Delia - they're incredibly lucky to have found each other. Brave and lucky."

The meals arrived but Trixie couldn't bring herself to eat it. Barbara too, preferred to play with her food. "Um, what is it" she said, staring at the food before her, "about women that you _like?"_

Lara shrugged, her face grew red with embarrassment. "I don't know, they're soft, pretty, kind... there's no macho showmanship." She contemplated for a moment, her embarrassment fading. "I guess I really feel like an equal when I'm with a woman. I'm not expected to pop out a million kids, give up my career, have dinner on the table by six..." She nodded, then paused. "But it's hard too, of course. The sacrifices, the judgement... _fear_."

"You're afraid?" asked Trixie, alarmed.

"Every day. First you're afraid of having to live a lie, next you're afraid of coming out, then you're afraid of the consequences once you do."

"Consequences?" asked Trixie. "Like your friends wouldn't want to be friends anymore?"

"Oh that's the least that could happen. If my parents found out, I'd be disowned. If my boss found out, I'd be fired."

Trixie swallowed the rising sensation in her throat.

"Surely you can't lose your job over something so private?" asked Barbara.

"I'm a School Teacher, they would see it as a threat to young, impressionable minds. Patsy and Delia, of course, could lose theirs."

Trixie braced herself against the table, her breathing shallow and deep.

"Are you alright, Trixie?"

"Yes, sweetie. I just suddenly feel unwell."

Barbara eyed her with a strange concoction of sympathy and suspicion.

"Lara, if a friend didn't react well to your news, perhaps you thought she would, but in that moment she panicked and said something she regrets, would you forgive her?" Barbara looked to Trixie, hoping the answer would relieve whatever was troubling her.

"I think I would yes. I may be a little different to others in some respects, but I'm also a lot like everyone else. I say things I regret. I forgive things I can."

Trixie forced a smile out of politeness. "Thank you Lara, you've been most helpful. But I'm afraid I have to attend the rest of my shift. Enjoy the film." It was a blunt farewell, but polite. Trixie put some money on the table, sprung from her chair, and took the long walk to the deli's entrance.

Left alone with Lara, Barbara felt even more self-conscious than usual. She patted down her shirt, "I don't usually wear plaid, it was Trixie's idea."

* * *

"How are you feeling Mr Chisolm?" Delia asked, in the hope that the elderly man's medication had taken effect.

"Fine, fine. Still not yourself, I see?" He eyed Delia suspiciously.

"Not quite, Mr Chisolm. It's just one of those days where you have to see it through, I'm afraid."

"Yes... any idea who or what has taken over your body? Aliens is still my bet."

Aliens? Taking over bodies? His medication had not taken effect, surely. But then she remembered their earlier conversation. _"What have you done with my lovely, cheerful Ms Busby?" - "I'm rather afraid an imposter has taken over her body"..._

"No, not an alien, Mr Chisolm. Plain old life is scary enough, it seems."

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

Delia shouldn't have looked at him. His expression was bare, remorseful, full of sympathy. She swallowed the affirmative words rising up in her throat. "I'm not sure what you mean," said Delia, but her expression failed her.

"My dear girl..." Mr Chisolm patted the spare space on his bed, motioning the brunette forward. She shook her head and crossed her arms, as if restricting her body could restrict any tears from escaping.

"It's nothing, I should go, I have other patients to see."

Mr Chisolm reached for her hand. "There is an old German proverb - 'fear makes the wolf appear bigger than he is.'"

Delia pried herself loose from his hand and sought solace in the bathroom. She took in Mr Chisolm's words - _'Fear makes the wolf appear bigger than he is._ ' She contemplated for a moment. She had thought the battle insurmountable; her Patsy would surely be pulled from her grasp... but only if she let it. Only if she didn't pull back.

Delia dissected the proverb. The wolf was surely Sister Julienne, she surmised. And her bite? The loss of Patsy's job, her residence at Nonnatus. But what had given her this power? It wasn't as if a single anonymous report, an unsubstantiated rumour, amounted to a house of straw...

An idea struck Delia. The accusation against Patsy was already weak, but she could weaken it further - take all the air out of it's lungs, so to speak. All she had to do was find this 'anonymous tipper' and convince them they were mistaken. Convince them to lie.

Anonymous tippers should be easy to find, she thought, when they are hiding in plain sight.

* * *

Patsy volunteered to take inventory of the clinic supplies. It would bring some order to her muddled brain, she concluded. She needed a clear head to formulate a response to the accusations. Her mind was currently a mismatch of angry parents, medical terminology and Delia's frightened words - " _everything you've worked for, your home_... _here with me_.' If counting sheep had worked to sleep, counting supplies should surely work to think.

It hadn't.

Every so often, when in between patients, or during a particularly routine appointment, Phyllis would glance over to Patsy. Taking stock of Patsy taking stock, as it were. Patsy, it seemed, was merely mimicking the counting of supplies. She simply moved a bottle of medicine from one side of the counter to the other. Then the next bottle and the bottle after that... Though Patsy's arms kept moving, she did not appear to write anything down. Instead, she stared into space.

 _Just give a blanket denial_ , thought Patsy, _it would be your word against theirs._

"It seems there are no patients booked for the rest of the afternoon," said Phyllis as she approached the counter. "I can handle the patients we have left, why don't you head off a little early?"

"Sorry?" asked Patsy, startled by Phyllis' sudden presence.

"You can leave early, Ms Mount. I can handle it from here."

"No, that won't be necessary, Nurse Crane. As you can see, I'm in the middle of inventory and I rather intend to finish it." It was an aloof response to the older Midwife's act of kindness, but Patsy could barely muster the pretence of coping, let alone pleasantries.

Phyllis looked at the inventory ledger. A few careless strikes adorned the mostly blank page. "I think _it will_ be necessary, Ms Mount," said Phyllis. She gently pulled the ledger away from Patsy's weakened grasp.

As Patsy let go of the ledger, so with it went her façade. A tidal of sorrow swept over her face.

" _I'm a good nurse,_ " said Patsy, her voice broken.

Phyllis was taken aback, she had never seen a trace of vulnerability in the tall woman. Phyllis had always thought that Patsy could weather the fiercest of storms; had admired her for it. But the Patsy before her was weathered, beaten.

"My dear," Phyllis placed a hand over Patsy's, "I never said you weren't..."

" _I'm a good person_ ," whispered Patsy. Tears welled in her eyes.

" _I know_ ," said Phyllis. Her eyes grew grey, saddened by Patsy's need to reassure herself. "I think maybe, if you told me what's troubling you, I could assist?"

"No," Patsy shook her head adamantly. "I can't..."

Phyllis' could see the fear in Patsy's eyes; her heart sank. She stepped toward the shaking woman. "What are you so afraid of? _"_

Patsy took a step back _._ _Of everything_ , she thought. _But what good was fear when Delia was relying on her to be strong? What good had fear been growing up without her mother?... without her father?_ Patsy closed her eyes. She knew what her father would say to her now, if he witnessed her in this state _._ She wiped the tears from her eyes and straightened her uniform. A sudden stoicism washed over her features. " _Bravery_ is being the only one who knows you're afraid," she said.

Patsy took a bottle from one side of the counter, and placed it on the other. "Now, if you could just let me finish up, I'd be most appreciative."

Phyllis nodded her approval. She walked away from Patsy reluctantly, ledger in hand.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thankyou to those who left feedback regarding my previous chapter's shifting to multiple storylines/characters. This update continues in that vein._

 _And thanks for the continued encouragement, not long to go now._

* * *

Trixie closed the bedroom door and went to her hiding place. Kneeling by the bed, she outstretched her hand and felt across the cold wooden floor. She hoped to feel the crisp glass grace her fingertips, but she traced nothing but the rustic imprints of wood and a random collection of dust. She poked her head under the bed in search of the bottle. It was gone. She looked in her drawers; her cupboards, nothing. She panicked. _Perhaps a Nun had found it_ , she thought. _Please be Sister Mary Cynthia and not Sister Winifred,_ she willed. But it was a brief fixation. Such was her need for relief, that a judgemental Nun was the least of her concerns.

Trixie ran to the bathroom, trusty ol' Listerine would be a suitable replacement for now. She didn't need a lot anyway, just the warm shock of alcohol to slightly numb her senses. Though she had never before resorted to such extremities, it was simply a necessity to cope with her shift on such a day as this, she justified.

Trixie opened the bathroom cabinet and scanned it's contents. There, amongst the various toiletries, she found it. An empty bottle of gin, so large that it seemed intrusive in the space.

" _Patsy_ ," she whispered.

Trixie gathered the bottle and closed the cabinet door. She watched her reflection in the cabinet mirror. A steady succession of tears caused her face to slowly distort. After everything she had said, the way she acted, the pain she caused... sweet, reliable Patsy was still looking out for her best interests. Just as she had always done. _The red-head hadn't changed, it was Trixie who was unrecognisable._ The mirror just confirmed it.

Trixie somehow found the strength to put on her uniform, all the while glancing remorsefully at Patsy's bed. She opened her bedside drawer and took out a pen and paper. Bracing the paper against the chest, her pen hesitated for a moment. She thought back to all that Lara had confided. Patsy had not told her, not out of selfishness or not wanting to be her friend, but out of fear. A fear that she lived with every day. A fear of being found out, which Trixie had only justified. A fear of losing friendships, which Trixie had seemingly tried her best to fulfil. A fear of losing her job. She sighed and wiped a tear from her eye.

Trixie knew that there was nothing she could write that would atone for what was already said and done, but she had to start somewhere. She began with the simplest of words - _sorry._ She scribbled the rest in a rush, knowing that if she took the time to think, it would never be written, and never be known. She tucked the folded paper under Patsy's bed covers so that it only slightly protruded into view.

* * *

Patsy had made up her mind; reply with four simple words: "the allegations are absurd." Keep it short and simple, no need for further elaboration. To concoct a long, detailed story is a sign of guilt, _and,_ would require the ability to conduct more than one complete sentence. She placed the last of the medicine bottles to the side, then looked up briefly to see Phyllis approaching. Out of sheer panic, Patsy commenced the re-counting of stock. She re-positioned the medicine bottle to it's original place. Then the one after that, and the one after that. If it wasn't such a pitiful attempt at avoidance, Phyllis might think that Patsy was simply too preoccupied to acknowledge her presence.

A thump on the table broke Patsy from her pretence. Her eyes focused on a dark blue leather-bound book. Patsy closed her eyes; _the ledger. How could I be so foolish?_

"You'll need _that_ to keep track of your meticulous counting," said Phyllis, eyebrow arched.

"Yes, of course," said Patsy, not daring to look at the older Midwife.

"And _re-counting_."

"Nurse Crane doesn't miss a trick," said Patsy, smiling and shaking her head.

"It's nice to see your smile, Ms Mount," said Phyllis. Patsy's smile weakened. "Well then," continued Phyllis, she didn't want to cause Patsy any further despair, "dare to accompany an old maid home?"

"I can't, I'm afraid. It seems I have some rather meticulous numbers to write down." Patsy rolled her eyes at her own forgetfulness.

"So it seems," smiled Phyllis. She turned to leave, but paused. She looked back to the red-head. "You are an excellent Nurse Ms Mount, " she said with stoic conviction, "and an outstanding human-being."

Patsy smiled weakly and nodded. Phyllis turned away, embarrassed at her uncharacteristic sentimentality. Patsy watched as Phyllis walked the length of the room and out the door. Patsy continued staring at the wooden panels for several moments; willing time to freeze. She glanced up to the clock above and counted the hours until her judgement. Panic stabbed at her heart. She braced herself against the ledger and took elongated breaths. Slowly calming, she traced her fingers across the indent of the leather, then turned the pages to her previous position. _And there_ , in the middle of the page, was the neat, cursive script that Patsy recognised as belonging to Phyllis.

She whispered the words aloud:

 _"Courage is the only asset_  
 _That will conquer in the fight_  
 _If you have the will to mass it_  
 _On the lines of truth and right."_

Patsy looked to the space once occupied by the curmudgeonly Midwife and sighed.

* * *

It wasn't until Lara bellowed forward in laughter at her unintended joke that Barbara noticed her necklace. Dangling from the blonde's neck was a gold cross hanging from a gold chain.

"Are you religious?" asked Barbara. She stared at the crucifix now resting on Lara's collarbone.

Lara's laughter faded, she twisted the cross with her fingers. "Oh no, it seems as though the inquisition has returned."

"Sorry," said Barbara, "I'll stop with the million questions."

"Oh I was joking Barbara, I don't mind. Though I do intend to go home and write a list of questions for you... for next time." Lara blushed at her presumption.

"That seems only fair," said Barbara, smiling. She was most glad there would be a next time.

"But yes, I am. Catholic to be specific, church every Sunday. Does that surprise you?"

"Yes?" Barbara was uncertain whether that was the right answer.

"Because I'm homosexual?"

"Yes?" Barbara was aware that she was answering in confused questions, but she didn't want to offend her new friend. She was well aware of what the Bible said about her kind. "I'm sorry, it's not a particularly lovely topic to raise, considering..."

Lara smiled weakly.

"Oh gosh," said Barbara, she placed her hand over Lara's, "and yet there I go, raising it. Let's talk about more pleasant things." Barbara paused, unable to think of more pleasant things, she was too preoccupied by her own foolishness. Lara, too, was preoccupied with the warmth of Barbara's hand on her own. She slowly removed it from Barbara's light grasp. It wasn't lost on Barbara, her face grew red from the implication.

"Well," said Lara, keen to distract from the hand-holding, "I don't believe the interpretation of the Bible that we're all going to hell. _That_ is an interpretation for those who like to shrink scripture to fit their own narrow-mindedness."

It didn't help Barbara's blush. There was once was a time when she would have prayed for people like Lara, for people like Patsy and Delia, to release them from their sins and be saved.

"And what's your interpretation?" asked Barbara.

"That God loves me, just like everyone else. And not despite of my sin, because I don't believe that it is a sin. How could loving someone be a sin? And hating someone like me, be an act of faith?"

Barbara contemplated for a moment, Lara was right, of course. "You are perhaps the most wise person I've ever met."

It was now Lara's turn to blush. "And you are perhaps the loveliest." She falted, aware of the insinuation. "I'm really glad to have made a new friend," she clarified.

"Me too."

"But as your friend, I feel it incumbent upon me to tell you..."

"What?" asked Barbara, her eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"We've missed the film."

* * *

Delia watched the clock, she was almost certain that Patsy would be home before her; certain that Patsy would be interrogated before she had the chance to change the night's course. She would have to feign illness, or a sudden emergency, she thought. Leave early, find her former friend, or indeed friends, and convince them to retract the accusation. All in the space of two hours. It seemed insurmountable. But still; she thought back to Mr Chisolm: _'fear makes the wolf appear bigger than he is.'_ I can beat this, thought Delia; _a wolf is no match for the Welsh._

Delia hunted down the ward Matron. If a toad embodied buxom human form and favoured a seam-busting uniform, the amphibian would resemble a more attractive parody of Matron Beasley. Other Nurses had even taken to call her Ms Beastly behind her back, but not Delia. Delia could make a friend of anyone; and she had been determined to do so with Matron Beasley. Though a friendship had not yet resulted from Delia's endless cheerful greetings and enquiries concerning the Matron's cat, it was clear to anyone that the Head Nurse was slightly less of a raging lunatic around the small brunette.

"Well, I don't have all day Nurse Busby, and neither do you!" said the Matron from behind her desk. "What is it?"

"Um," Delia played with her hands, "I'm afraid there is an emergency I must attend to."

Matron Beasley's brow creased in anger. "Well go on then!"

"You mean you're letting me go?"

"Well this is a hospital, Nurse Busby, responding to an emergency is part of your job, is it not?"

Delia's excitement faded. "No, I mean yes it is, but that's not why I'm here. You see..."

Delia paused in panic. She had intended to say that the emergency was of the frequent need to use the lavatory kind (Delia could never work out why Patsy thought her dramatic), but she could predict Matron Beasley's response: _'This is a Hospital, find some medication, and get bloody on with it!'_ Delia racked her brain for an excuse more likely to lie with the Head Nurse's sympathies.

"Well get bloody on with it!" said the Matron, in seeming confirmation of Delia's concerns.

"It's my cat!," exclaimed Delia, at last.

Matron Beasley raised her eyebrow. "I didn't think you had a cat..."

"She's new. Her name is Trixie... she's somewhat of a mangy terror."

Matron laughed. "Still young is she? I've been there."

"Well she's getting on," said Delia. "But she's pregnant, so young enough. My house mate has just called and said she's in labour, but there's a problem."

"Oh dear..."

"Oh yes!" exclaimed Delia, "But my house mate, she's not a Nurse you see... so she's asked if I could possibly come and ..."

"Of course," interrupted Matron Beasley, "say no more." She rose to her feet and motioned Delia toward the door. Delia was sure the hot sweat of her hand would leave a greasy imprint on her back. Still, Matron Beasley could place a grease infested hand directly on her face, and she wouldn't mind. "Thankyou so much Matron, you really are a great friend."

The Head Nurse stepped back from the brunette, she lowered her head bashfully. "Thank you, Ms Busby... Perhaps Mr Tipples and Little Trixie could have a play date sometime?"

"That would be... splendid," said Delia.

"And bring the kittens!"

Delia ran toward home. Though she was mostly preoccupied with the riot act she would soon be spieling, she thought briefly of her other dilemma. Where would she get a cat? And where at Nonnatus could she keep it?

This, she concluded, was the problem with long, elaborate fabrications. Not only were they a sign of guilt, but they could also result in the long, elaborate hiding of kittens.

* * *

Phyllis had ruined Patsy's plan. On the brisk walk toward Nonnatus, Patsy constantly recited the poem in her head.

 _Courage is the only asset  
_ _That will conquer in the fight_  
 _If you have the will to mass it_  
 _On the lines of truth and right_

She had heard the poem before, perhaps in childhood. Perhaps at school, she couldn't recall. But she knew the words written were only a partial retelling. She internally recited the words again, hoping another verse would come to mind. But she would get to the last line, and forget all else. _'On the lines of truth and right'_ seared into her consciousness.

'The allegations are absurd!' would have been the simplest of explanations, but it wouldn't be the _truth;_ it wouldn't be _right._ Patsy contemplated- _but did truth and righteousness justify the risk?_ She knew what the consequences of truth were. It had been ingrained in her psyche since she realised the woman she was becoming. The loss of her job, loss of her residence, loss of reputation. And loss, perhaps, of friends. The loss of family, she knew, was suffered by others of her kind, though it had never been a concern of hers, not in the past. Having lost her mother and sister at such a young age, and with the relative absence of her father, she knew family to lie in the most obscure of places. She had found it in the arms of Delia, _and now_ , she realised, in the heart of Nonnatus House. She was thankful that fate had worked to bring them both to her. The end of this, from speaking her truth, would be the greatest risk of all, she knew. Her blessing would come undone.

" _Blessing"_ she whispered, suddenly realising the connection. She recited the poem once more, this time aloud:

 _"Courage is the only asset  
_ _That will conquer in the fight_  
 _If you have the will to mass it_  
 _On the lines of truth and right"_

She hesitated, searching for the next verse..., "blessing, blessing," she said in hushed tones, her brow creased in concentration. Then, Patsy suddenly ceased her long strides. She looked to the sky and whispered:

 _"And when at last victorious,_  
 _From the conflict you arise,_  
 _You'll reap a harvest glorious_  
 _From your blessings in disguise"_

She realised now, where she had heard it, whom had said it... " _Mother,"_ she breathed. Tears fell from Patsy's eyes as she reminisced the stormy nights in the POW camp. In comforting the young Patsy, her mother would hold her in her arms and rock her back and forth. "Don't be afraid, my Patience," she would whisper, "we have each other. That is a blessing that others don't have." Patsy would bury her head further into her mothers embrace. Her mother in turn, would recite the poem softly in Patsy's ear. But Patsy, of course, had only had the blessing of her mother and sister for so long.

Patsy continued walking. _But I still have Delia_ , she thought, _and would still_ , _if I spoke my truth and the worst were to happen._ They would have to find other jobs, of course, find another place, but they'd still be together. And in their own flat perhaps, just as they were before. Delia would smell disinfectant in the air and know that Patsy was home; Patsy would wrap her scarf around Delia in the morning and send her on her way. They still couldn't be open in their new jobs, she knew. But away from that, for sixteen beautiful hours in their day, they would be free. A _nd that_ was a blessing.

Patsy lengthened her stride; she walked with purpose. It was true, she surmised, _the truth shall set me free._ Patsy thought of the panic she felt when sharing Delia's bed, the pain from only being able to touch her behind closed doors. And then, she imagined that fear and the pain disappear; just as the fear of the consequences was slowly subsiding with each determined stride.

 _And so_ , Patsy had a new plan. _Her truth_ \- her love for Delia, despite all obstacles, would no longer be disguised by shame. Her truth was glorious, her truth was a blessing. But then she thought of her mother's words and her stride weakened; " _this is a blessing that others don't have_." She thought of Mr Amos and of the anonymous faces at Gateways, who could only be themselves in a shroud of secrecy. And even then, when they tried their upmost to hide like Mr Amos had done, _like she had done_ , they could still be punished for simply choosing to love.

Patsy increased her pace once more, a steely determination adorned her face. Her truth, she decided, would not only be glorious, would not only be a blessing- her truth _would be righteous._

* * *

 _Author Note: The poem is borrowed from The Harvest by Jack Crawford (1847 - 1917)._


	19. Chapter 19

_So this chapter was hard to write and I'm not sure I've nailed it. Constructive criticism is welcome._

 _Thanks, as always, for the reviews (and patience)._

* * *

Barbara usually hated answering the telephone. She thought her voice lacked authority for such a demanding role. Assuring mothers, directing Midwives promptly to emergencies; it required a steely resolve like that of Phyllis or Patsy; certainly not the diminutive vocalisation of the petite brunette. But this evening, in between moments of extreme anxiety whenever the phone rang, Barbara relished the opportunity to get lost in her thoughts. Though she had thought briefly of her slight disappointment in missing _To Kill A Mockingbird_ yet again, she was mostly preoccupied with the small miracle that had occurred in the previous twenty four hours.

She had prayed so that she may understand Patsy and Delia, and the Lord had answered. She had expected a little nudge toward a particularly relevant Bible verse, or the chance hearing of a liberal Nun's thoughts on the matter; instead resolution was slightly less religious. Though in hindsight, she wondered why she ever expected the answer to be so literal.

When Barbara was nine, she prayed for a new bike for her birthday. Her mother had always thought that such contraptions were most dangerous and unladylike; Barbara was never allowed to feel the wind in her hair as she scooted around town in a metal "death trap." And so, when she awoke on the morning of her tenth birthday, she was disappointed that the Lord hadn't gifted her with a shiny red bike. Year after year, she politely gave thanks for gifts of books, socks and handbags, when all she had wanted was the cheap and convenient mode of transport. It came, finally, in the most unexpected of ways. Barbara, fresh out of nursing school, had joined the Midwives of Nonnatus, fully expecting to be transported to duty by motor car or ambulance. So when Fred wheeled the contraption out of the shed and into Barbara's hands, she had never felt so happy. It was a prayer over ten years in the making, and in the wrong colour, but its imperfectness had made it all the more special. The Lord, it seemed, was as imperfect as the world it created. And this authenticity had only served to strengthen her faith; her belief in misdirected miracles.

So, it should have been no surprise that the answer to last night's prayer came in the form of an attractive, platinum blonde, who just so happened to have Sapphic tendencies. Barbara took this unforeseen resolution as a further sign that the Lord was accepting of Patsy and Delia. She feared, however, that The Lord held deep reservations toward in vogue fashion accessories. Given the Lord's historical foolery in answering Barbara's prayers, she briefly feared in what form her other prayer, one for pantyhose, would come. She imagined them being worn by a would-be burglar attempting to distort his face; or perhaps they would be holding bulbs of garlic to be hung on windowsills.

The phone startled Barbara from her thoughts. She answered in a voice that seemed to mimic what she thought confident, sophisticated women sounded like. To Phyllis, within earshot, she sounded like a husky-voiced woman of the night. Phyllis wasn't sure whether Barbara was trying to assist the caller, or seduce them. The stern Midwife muttered to herself as she ventured to the clothesline in search of a fresh tablecloth. It was her duty to set the dining table for the night's dinner.

But when Phyllis returned, she found a horrified Barbara, phone in hand, staring at a clearly outraged Delia. "I assure you, Mrs Tanner, help is on its way," said Barbara, in a voice distinct from the frightened look on her face. Barbara gingerly placed the phone back on the receiver and braced herself in anticipation of Delia's fury.

" _Did you do it?"_ demanded Delia.

"Did I do what?" asked Barbara; she cowered further into her chair.

Delia scanned her surroundings, she failed to see Phyllis quietly folding napkins in the adjacent room. "Did. You. Tell?"

"Of course not! Delia, I would never do such a thing! What has bought this about?"

"Well it's mighty convenient that the day after I reveal... my whole soul to you Barbara," she hissed, "that Patsy is summonsed to Sister Julienne's office!"

Barbara stood to meet Delia. "She could be there for any number of reasons. Honestly Delia, we all go in there from time to time. Just this morning Trixie..." Barbara trailed off, realising the implication. She averted her gaze from Delia's stare.

"Trixie _what_?"

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"Trixie _what_ , Barbara?" asked Delia, almost spitting the words.

"Trixie was in Sister Julienne's office this morning, but she was just asking to be relieved from her shift... that's all." Delia was so lost in her own rage that she didn't notice the look of doubt creep upon Barbara's face.

"On the same morning that Patsy is called upon to discuss last night?" scoffed Delia.

"Surely that's not why she was summonsed? Trixie would never do such a thing. She loves Patsy."

"Well it is and it's awfully convenient," said Delia, her Welsh accent thickened.

Barbara tried to think of all possible explanations to reassure her friend, but her mind was largely occupied with the way Trixie had acted this morning; the things she had said. Her face exposed her. It was a mere minute change in expression; a glint in her eye, the twitch of her mouth, but Delia pounced.

"It _was_ Trixie, _wasn't it_?"

Barbara's forehead wrinkled in thought. " _'I've done something. I've said something I shouldn't have, in Sister Julienne's office_ , _I panicked_ ,'" she whispered in realisation. She looked to Delia; her face like a bloodhound, all droopy and melancholic. "That's what she said. 'I said something I shouldn't have.' Oh Delia, what are we going to do?"

"We're going to find Trixie," said Delia, storming to the front door, "and we're going to kill her!"

* * *

Patsy was nearing home. She could just make out the brickwork of Nonnatus House through the thick fog of her breath. She inhaled the haze briefly, stiffly, her breath catching as she neared closer. But then she saw her, the blonde midwife nearing the house from the East. Patsy slowed and covered her face with her coat collar. She bunched her scarf so that it created a partial veil to her neck and chin. She stood, barely incognito, and surveilled her former friend.

Patsy watched as Trixie stood at the front door, preoccupied with her handbag. _She's looking for her keys_ , thought Patsy, _she's always losing them_. Many a time Patsy had awoken to pebbles striking her window; willing the red-head to their quiet call of alarm. And so, she would have to creep downstairs in the dead of night to let the forgetful Midwife in. Trixie would always greet her with an embarrassed grin, followed by a hug and a promise to make it up to her in the morning. And without fail, the blonde was true to her word. Patsy would wake to a flower on her bedside table, extra cigarettes in her case, a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice.

Patsy smiled, she missed her friend. She wondered what happened to her. It wasn't a sudden change, she concluded. Patsy had thought that last night was the trigger point, but she realised now that Trixie had slowly, but surely, become a shadow of her former self. It had taken months perhaps, but the progression had happened so leisurely that Patsy had failed to notice. Trixie, it seemed, had been all alone. She had Delia, Barbara had Tom, Sister Mary Cynthia had God; Trixie had nothing but a bottle, and even that had turned against her.

Patsy sighed, she thought of her relative lack of support for Trixie when Tom's new relationship came to light. She thought too, of the opened bottle discovered under her bed. Patsy mentally chastised herself, it was something she could have prevented. If only she hadn't been so preoccupied by her own fear. She had not thought of how Trixie might be feeling; realising perhaps that not only did she _feel_ alone all these months; with Patsy spoken for, she _was_ alone. It was something Trixie feared, she knew; the last girl left on the shelf.

And so, thought Patsy, although Trixie certainly had some apologising to do, so it seems, did she.

* * *

"Why don't we take a moment to calm down?" pleaded Barbara.

Delia turned to her, a look of wrath seeped into her features. "Did you just tell me to calm down?" asked Delia; the flat tone of her voice made her all the more frightening to the petite woman.

"We, I said..." It hadn't improved Delia's mood. "I just think," explained Barbara, backing away, "that if we both took a moment to reflect, perhaps a more logical solution would present itself."

"Oh I think death to Trixie seems pretty bloody rational right now!" Delia hissed. She held the door handle, then turned to Barbara, "you stay; limit the job casualty to two." _With a death casualty of one_ , she thought.

Barbara contemplated what Delia had meant, _surely there were no jobs on the line? Not over something so trivial?_ She was about to protest but was distracted by the sudden force of Delia's body as it thrust into her side.

"Oh gosh Delia, I'm sorry," said Trixie, suddenly appearing in the door way, "it seems as though I was coming as you were going." She laughed nervously. The laughter slowly subsided as it dawned on her; the look on Delia's face. She had never seen it before; imagined it certainly, the Welsh woman could get quite passionate when worked up. But this? _Delia made Medea look like Mary Poppins_ , she thought. Trixie turned to leave, but a hand on her shoulder pulled her into the confines of Nonnatus. Delia slammed the door, Trixie's keys broke free from the lock.

The open hallway felt suddenly claustrophobic. Trixie scrambled for breath. "Delia," she hesitated, "I'm so, so sorry..."

And with those words, the seeming confession, Barbara's heart stopped entirely; if only for a moment. Her friend, the Trixie of cheerful feistiness and freshly popped champagne, it seemed, had done the unthinkable.

"Trixie," she whispered, " _what did you do?"_

* * *

With Trixie now gone from view, Patsy regained her rhythm, her sense of purpose. Expressions of remorse were for later; the present required no apology.

 _"You can do this,"_ she whispered, as she began her descent. She mentally willed herself forward. _March into Nonnatus House and straight into Sister Julienne's office,_ she decreed. _Do not abide by the designated meeting time. What you have to say cannot be stifled into convenience. You have lived your whole life for the satisfaction of others; hiding so that they may be comfortable and unthreatened_. _But not today_.

Patsy stood at the front steps and internally rehearsed her monologue. She would speak not only for herself, but for those who had suffered before her; and those who would surely suffer after. She felt the mental weight on her shoulders; those of a million men and women whose voice had been taken away.

She searched her coat pocket for a cigarette, then lowered herself to the cement. Though she had promised Delia that her last had been and gone, she surmised that her girlfriend could not begrudge her just this once - for courage sake. She inhaled the cylinder deeply; breathing in the strength to proceed.

* * *

It took all of Delia's self-control not to force Trixie up the stairs by the scruff of her hair. Instead she followed with heavy footsteps as Trixie led the way to her room. They had left Barbara, still on duty, watching from the bottom of the stairs. _This_ , she thought, _is worse than answering the telephone._ But then the phone rang and Barbara felt the familiar weight of her insides dropping to her pelvis. And she wasn't so sure anymore.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" screamed Delia, as if Trixie's room were sound proof.

"Yes," said Trixie, "I've made the biggest mistake of my life."

Delia scoffed, "there you go again, all about you!"

Trixie winced, stung by the truth. "If you could just tell me how to make this better... I'll do anything," she pleaded.

"You take it all back," yelled Delia. She deflated into a seated position on Patsy's bed. "If it's not too late that is."

"Of course I would, if she would only speak to me... but I don't think it's that easy. What I said, it was..."

Delia stiffened her back, her posture like that of a disciplined soldier. "You spoke to her this morning, speak to her again!" She rose from the bed and placed her hands on Trixie's shoulders. "I have no time to babysit your emotions right now, we are running out of time!"

Trixie released herself from Delia's grasp. "What are you talking about? I haven't spoken to Patsy since last night. And I wish I hadn't." She looked to a confused Delia in panic. "Running out of time?" she asked, "What has Patsy done?"

"It's you that did it!" spat the brunette. "Because of what you told Sister Julienne this morning, Patsy is about to lose her home, her job!"

"What I said? It had nothing to do with Patsy!" Trixie shook Delia out of her nauseated expression. "Delia, what has happened?"

* * *

Though Phyllis was usually a proud woman who paid no mind to drama and idle gossip, she found herself well and truly in the midst of a scandal. With her vantage point in the dining quarters, she had heard everything. She had spent the last few moments contemplating whether she should intervene. It was clear that a secret had been told, one that involved Patsy and Delia. It appeared that this secret had landed the taller nurse in a spot of bother with Sister Julienne. It would certainly account for Patsy's behaviour at work, thought Phyllis.

The stern Nurse laid out cutlery in a daze of worry. She knew what the secret was; she was not blind. She had known for some time. The looks the two women shared when they thought no one was watching, the despair seen in Patsy's eyes when Delia was injured; the joy when she had returned. Phyllis ached for the pain Patsy must have been in then, and the pain she must be feeling now. She made a mental note; after dinner she would tell Sister Julienne what an exemplary Nurse Patsy was, _is_. Patsy wouldn't need to know. Her secret would be safe with at least one person at Nonnatus.

Phyllis heard the sounds of keys at the front door. Though she believed Sister Julienne to be in her office, practicality convinced her to at least _see_ if the sounds belonged to the Head Nun. _Tell her now_ , she thought, _best to have these matters dealt with promptly_. But when she creeped around the corner, it was not Sister Julienne she found, but a clearly determined Patsy. The red-head walked straight toward the Head Nun's door, as if it were a mirage in sea of desert sand.

"Ah Patsy," beckoned Phyllis, "can I seek your assistance for just a moment?" she asked in panic. But Patsy didn't budge from her course; her eyes steadfast on her destination. Phyllis thought of the fear in Patsy's eyes this morning; " _bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid_ ," she remembered. It was the saddest darn thing she had ever heard. But her eyes now were steely, determined.

"Oh dear," whispered Phyllis.

* * *

"Ah, an anonymous person... um they informed Sister Julienne that Patsy was seen at Gateways..." stumbled Delia.

Trixie gasped, she held her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened in fear.

"I thought it was you!" accused Delia.

"How could you think I would ever do such a thing?" asked Trixie; it was more of a sorrowed pleading than a demand.

"Timing I guess... plus the things you said to Patsy." Delia shot Trixie a brief disapproving look. "And Barbara said that you were in her office, that you had said something you shouldn't have, and well... this ruins everything."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you see? You were supposed to tell Sister Julienne you were mistaken, but you weren't the one who told."

"But Sister Julienne doesn't know that, I can still say something," assured Trixie.

Delia shook her head, "but what if the person wasn't really anonymous? That she just said that out of common courtesy; confidentiality? You'd be in as much trouble for lying."

Trixie slumped on the bed; her mind a dizzying whirlwind of possible consequences. "I don't care," she said, finally, "I'll risk it. I can't grasp a greater consequence than losing my best friend." _If I haven't already lost her_ , she thought.

Delia joined Trixie; she allowed the blonde to rest her head on her shoulder. "Oh Delia, I've been so stupid."

"Yes, you have," agreed Delia, she pulled Trixie's arm around her waist. "But I won't abide by any further stupidity. There'll be no more casualties on my watch," she smiled, though her lips trembled. "If Patsy goes down, it's me who will go down with her." She pursed her lips together briefly, "and I'll have no jokes about that, thankyou very much."

Trixie laughed. Delia's words had lightened the mood, but the heaviness of inevitability lingered.

* * *

Patsy had spent the last few minutes sitting through a polite chastise of the importance of knocking before entering and in keeping designating meeting times. Usually the red-head would have agreed, would have apologised profusely for her uncharacteristic lack of etiquette, but she was bursting with words to be said and sorry was not one of them.

"I'm aware that I'm early Sister, but if you don't mind, I would rather have this matter dealt with as soon as possible."

"Of course," replied Sister Julienne, curtly. "I expect this misunderstanding won't take long to resolve."

Patsy cringed. _Misunderstanding_ , she thought, _as if a respected and trusted member of society couldn't be a queer. As if it were incomprehensible._

"As you are aware Ms Mount, I received some information regarding a sighting of you at a club called..." Sister Julienne inspected her notes, "Gateways. Are you aware of such an establishment?"

Patsy felt her heart trying to break free from her chest. She wanted to escape right along with it. It would be so easy, she thought. Run out the door and then... _And then what?_ she thought; _You can't keep running forever._

* * *

The sound of the door bursting open shook Trixie from Delia's shoulder. She stared at the figure before her in bewilderment. "Phyllis, what on earth?"

"Look, I have no time to apologise for eavesdropping..."

Delia jumped from the bed. "Phyllis, I'm not sure what you think you heard but..."

"Explanations are none of my concern," said Phyllis, sternly.

Trixie stood in solidarity with Delia. "If you're here to judge then you needn't bother!"

"It seems as though you have done enough judging for the both of us Ms Franklin!" accused Phyllis. Trixie looked away, equally furious with the stern Nurse, and herself.

"Now listen here, Patsy is already in Sister Julienne's office," spat Phyllis in quick succession.

Delia gasped; Trixie placed her hand on the brunettes shoulder.

"I don't entirely know why," continued Phyllis, "that's none of my business. But I do know, that as her friends, you need to do something. You can't just sit there and feel sorry for yourself. I'm aware that's not an encouraging thing to say, but that's the truth of it."

Delia froze. Her mind had been so overworked by panic and fear that it had shut itself down. She stared ahead, comatose.

Trixie let Phyllis' words consume her. She lowered her head in thought. "Of course!" she exclaimed, at last. She turned to the brunette. "Come on," she said, "I know what to do."

* * *

"Ms Mount?" asked Sister Julienne, her face narrowed in concern. Patsy didn't respond. _D_ _o not run_ , she willed.

"Are you aware of a bar called Gateways?" the Nun repeated. She perused her notes as she waited for the answer.

 _Do not run._ Patsy swallowed. "Yes, Sister."

Sister Julienne glanced up in surprise. "And what do you know of such a club?"

Patsy of three hours ago would have flinched at the question, would have averted her eyes from the concerned gaze of the woman sitting across from her. But the Patsy of the present was unabashed with anchored determination. She was set in stone; she would not run. "It's a club for women, Sister."

Sister Julienne nodded. "A club for homosexual women."

The two women stared at each other. Sister Julienne with a slight frostiness to her warmth, Patsy with a steely edge.

"Is that a question, Sister?"

"It's a fact, is it not, Ms Mount?" asked Sister Julienne. She cocked her head to the side.

"It is a club for homosexuals, yes."

"And you were seen attending this club. Is that true Ms Mount?"

It was one thing to be aware of a club's existence, Patsy knew, and another to freely admit attendance. _This was it_ , she thought, _there was no turning back._

She held her gaze; interrogator and subject in a wide-eyed stand-off

* * *

The office door flung open without warning.

In the miniscule moments before Trixie's presence was known, before the deafening blow of wood against plaster consumed all else; a loud determined voice was heard.

"Yes."


	20. Chapter 20

_There was never meant to be a second question._

Sister Julienne had questioned her staff before. It had always been routine questioning with routine answers. She wasn't always sure of the truth, but it wasn't her role to determine sincerity. But _this_ , she conceded, was an extraordinary matter. A matter made public by a nurse's very public indiscretion, of which the reputation of Nonnatus House was at stake. This was not a mere case of a Nonnatus nurse splashed across newspapers in nothing but Lycra. This was a matter to be dealt with promptly and seriously; just as her duty of obedience dictated.

Sister Julienne was fully aware of the potential gravity of the situation. She knew that technically the law was reserved for men of such persuasion. But the reputation of Nonnatus House and conditions of employment were quite another matter. "No dark secrets, girls," she had once overheard Nurse Franklin say. Just as Dorothy Whitmore had been dismissed for her pregnancy out of wedlock, Nurse Mount too, could be dismissed in kind.

But Sister Julienne knew Patsy to be fiercely intelligent. The nurse would know that allegations could only be acted upon, and punishment received, if they were admitted. She had also known Patsy to be stubborn in her privacy; closed from the enquiring minds of others. She had thought the no-nonsense midwife would refute the claims against her. Previous staff had denied indiscretions in the face of much more incriminating evidence after all. Patsy simply needed to state that she had never heard of such a club and had certainly never attended, the nun had thought. The I's dotted; the T's crossed. Her duty abided by. But Sister Julienne hadn't expected Patsy to be so unabashedly honest. It had been clear from the moment Patsy had barged into her office, that she would set her own agenda.

Sister Julienne had even tried to sway Patsy toward an alternate path. 'I'm sure this _misunderstanding_ can be resolved quickly,' she had said, with as much direction as her voice could convey. _And_ , 'a club for homosexual women, it's a fact _is it not,_ Ms Mount?' she had had asked, in some vein hope that the nurse would be astounded at the revelation. But Patsy had either missed or completely ignored the cues; the covert plea for the midwife to agree, to be aghast. _Yes, it is a misunderstanding. And would that be all, Sister?_ Patsy was meant to say. But of course, it had not gone as expected at all. Patsy had arrived well before their scheduled meeting. She had confirmed the first question, which of course, had led to a second. A question that was never meant to be asked; a duty of obedience that could not be so easily fulfilled.

"And you were seen attending this club. Is that true, Ms Mount?"

Sister Julienne had willed Patsy to say 'no' and for that to be the unequivocal truth. No more questions asked. But the head nun could see from the mixture of grief and defiance in the nurse's eyes that the matter could not be resolved that simply. Matters in which the head and the heart were so obviously vying for control were never that simple, she conceded.

"Yes," the defiant redhead had replied.

If she hadn't been interrupted by the sudden blast of wood against plaster; of the unforeseen appearance of Trixie Franklin in the doorway, the head nun's heart would have deflated. Instead it lifted in indignation.

Sister Julienne rose from her chair. "Nurse Franklin, I must ask you to control yourself." Patsy turned her head, following Sister Julienne's alarmed gaze.

"I'm sorry Sister but this really is most necessary," said Trixie. Sister Julienne shifted focus as Delia and a sheepish Barbara shuffled into view.

"I'm afraid it's necessary, Ms Franklin, to abide by common courtesy. You have interrupted a matter that is none of your concern."

"But it is my concern, Sister," said Trixie. " _Our_ concern." she clarified. "Though I'm not quite sure _concern_ is the most suitable term."

"I appreciate that you're here to support a friend, but this is a confidential matter and will be dealt with as such."

"We were all there!" Trixie shouted. She calmed herself. "At the club last night. Patsy, Barbara, Delia and myself. We were all there."

Sister Julienne was about to probe further; she opened her mouth, but hesitated. Her previous line of questioning had only uncovered further truths she didn't want known. She rested her elbows on the desk, then pointed her index fingers together. "I see," she said.

"There was a sudden change of plans and we decided to have a girl's night," explained Trixie.

Barbara looked to her in horror.

"Not in that way," Trixie clarified. "We went to a bar, but we didn't know it was _that kind_ of bar."

"I'm not sure why Patsy was the only one who was recognised," explained Delia. "I guess it's hard to miss a striking," Delia paused, panicked at her slip of the tongue. "Strikingly tall redhead."

"So if you're here to interrogate Patsy, you should interrogate us as well," Trixie demanded.

"I hardly think interrogate is the most appropriate term, Nurse Franklin," Sister Julienne echoed.

" _Isn't it?"_ asked Trixie.

"Is this true, Nurse Gilbert?" asked Sister Julienne, ignoring the increasing anger rising in the blonde. Ignoring too, that the blonde was perhaps correct in her assessment.

Barbara nodded. Her face reddened. "I met a lovely girl named Lara," she confessed. Trixie nudged her side. _'Don't',_ she mouthed.

"I saw her again today. She is sweet and funny and wise. And I'm really glad I met her," Barbara continued in defiance. She witnessed the look of puzzlement on the nun's face. "She and I are friends," she clarified. "Nothing more. But if we were then... then I don't see how there could be anything wrong with that," she spat.

A moment of silence filled the room; awkward and stifled. Barbara scanned the faces of the room's occupants; they seemed to look away in embarrassment. _This is what is must feel like_ , she thought, _to be ashamed for something so much as being in love._

The harsh call of the phone cut away at the stillness. Barbara had never been so thankful for its rude interruption. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must get that," she said.

Sister Julienne thought it best to ignore the outburst, lest she create further friction. She motioned for Trixie to close the door.

"Ms Mount, you can _confirm_ this?" asked Sister Julienne. It was a delicate shift in tone, but the subliminal appeal to confirm was not missed by Patsy. Not this time.

"Yes, but..." Patsy hesitated. This had not gone according to plan. She was meant to speak her truth; to speak for others like her. She looked to Delia. She noted the dilation of the brunette's pupils enlarge by the second, then the furrow of her brow. ' _Pats?_ ' she mouthed. _She's afraid_ , thought Patsy. _Of the truth revealed. Of the consequences. Of me._ "But..." stuttered Patsy; her words lost in Delia's stare.

"But Barbara's right," interrupted Trixie, panicked by Patsy's lack of cooperation. "Am I to assume from this... inquisition," she spat, "that you believe the nature of this establishment and the nature of the accusation to be incompatible? Surely there are elements that are mutually exclusive? Love, understanding and compassion?"

"Ms Franklin, it is not my role to judge. We do, however, have a reputation..."

Trixie scoffed. "What about their reputation? These men and women go to such clubs because they cannot be themselves anywhere else. Because of the law or the church, or for fear of losing their jobs. And though it pains me to say, because of people like me. We've abandoned them, for no reason other than who they love. And now we seem to find them, in hiding, and drag them into a court room, or," Trixie scanned the office, "interrogation room, to shame them publicly."

"Now Ms Franklin," interrupted the nun, her voice calm. "This is a private matter that I have no intention to make public. But you must understand that whenever you leave the grounds of Nonnatus House, you take publicly, its reputation with you. One that is, by its very nature, conservative and disciplined. If one cannot abide by conduct in keeping with the church, and one's profession, then perhaps _it is_ incompatible."

"But it's wrong," said Delia, sadly. She looked to Patsy, her head hung in shame, for what she hadn't the courage to say. Trixie and Delia were speaking her truth. For others of her kind. For the men locked away. For the women suddenly unemployed. She was but a muted witness.

"We cherish all of our nurses, Ms Busby. Without you all, we would be at a loss to serve the community. But we serve in the Lord's name. We abide by His word, regardless of opinion." Sister Julienne smiled weakly. "Now, it seems as though this course of events has resulted from a misunderstanding. But I ask of all of you to keep in mind, at all times, the reputation of this establishment, and indeed your profession." She paused. "Your private lives are none of my concern, but you mustn't give me reason to make it so."

"Yes sister," the nurses said in unison.

"I'm sure that will be all Nurse Franklin and Nurse Busby," said the nun. The two women nodded. "Nurse Mount, if you could stay a moment?"

* * *

Trixie paced the room, her hands flailing as if silently rehearsing an impassioned speech. The door creaked open. A deflated Patsy came into view. Trixie's wide eyes narrowed. The words the blonde once knew by heart, escaped her. "Pats, I'm so terribly sorry," was all she could muster.

Patsy ignored Trixie's outstretched hand. She slumped on her bed, arched forward, her legs dangling over the frame. She stared at the empty bed adjacent. Trixie did not wait for an invitation to join her. Knowing it would never come, Trixie sat gingerly beside Patsy; her weight barely causing an indent in the mattress. She eyed the tall midwife in her peripheral. "Would it be further intrusive of me to enquire what it is that Sister Julienne said?"

Patsy sighed. "Yes."

Trixie refocused, choosing to concentrate on her hands as they twisted into each other with nervous discontent. "Of course."

"But I'm getting rather accustomed to intrusiveness," continued Patsy. "The constant need to question my private life."

"Pats, I..."

"If you think for one instant that I didn't want to tell you..." interrupted Patsy. "I would have adored to share stories of first dates; of the moment one knew one was falling. Everything. But I couldn't. _I can't_."

"But _you can_ Pats," implored Trixie. She kneeled in front of Patsy. "With me at least. And Barbara."

"And risk another inquisition?" demanded Patsy. "I was so ready to confess," she said. She rubbed her palms against the coarseness of her stockings; back and forth, the friction rising. _"That word,"_ she said, harshly, shaking her head. "As though I have committed some heinous crime."

Trixie levelled herself to the floor. " _I_ was heinous. What I said, about you being who you are and what you do for a living. It was ghastly, insensitive and completely unconscionable. I said it was my business because _I so_ wanted it to be. I know I have no right, but I would so dearly love to know you, Pats." She searched Patsy's face for any sign of reconciliation, but the redhead simply stared ahead. "But that's no excuse, I realise that," said Trixie.

Patsy sighed. She was still angry at the blonde. But the anger rising in herself, for her failure to speak her truth, eclipsed it. "I suspect my own thoughts could rival yours. Of who I am."

"But _I don't_ think that."

"I do. _I did_ , " said Patsy. "Every hateful word they say about us. That there's something wrong, some chemical imbalance or disorder. That it's unnatural. I thought that too, about myself, and others like me. Until..." Patsy picked at the loose thread on her dress.

" _Until Delia_?" asked Trixie, softly.

"Yes," said Patsy, barely audibly. "I was going to atone. For all my hateful thoughts. For every time I told her to be careful, to not speak so loud."

Trixie placed a hand on Patsy's knee. "So speak out loud now," she said.

Patsy stared at the hand as it shifted slightly, back and forth.

"Tell me about it?" Trixie asked, her tone lifting at the edges. "The moment you knew you were falling." Patsy shook her head, her mouth curled in embarrassment.

"I know it's not something you talk about. Certainly not something you could discuss with colleagues, or Sister Julienne. But you can with me. This whole event has been ghastly and completely unfair, but at least now, in this room, we can talk. _Out loud_. I so want to talk, Pats," pleaded Trixie.

Patsy looked to the blonde, at last. She positioned her head to the side. "Why don't we start with the bottle?" she asked.

Trixie's breath caught, harsh and cold. "Alright," she said, unsteadily. "I admit that after our argument, I thought that perhaps the real me, the sober one, had been masked all this time. Turns out, without the aid of gin, I'm rather unpleasant. Cold, cruel and judgemental." Trixie looked to her friend. "Stop me any time, Pats," she joked.

Patsy failed to respond.

"I thought that perhaps it was spirits that accounted for my spirited personality. And I wanted it back." Trixie removed her hand from Patsy's knee and placed it atop the red-head's own. "I wanted my best friend back."

Patsy's eyes blurred with tears in their infancy. "You don't need the drink to have that, Trixie."

"I know," agreed the blonde, her voice breaking. "As soon as I realised that you had hidden the bottle, I knew, _hoped_ I could have both. Sobriety and my most cherished friend." She looked into Patsy's eyes. "That is, if you'll still be my friend."

Patsy smiled and squeezed Trixie's hand.

"But on one condition," continued Trixie.

"I hardly think you're in a position to bargain," warned Patsy.

"I get to be friends with the real you. Not some striped pyjama clad imposter. But the friend who shares things; who laughs over disastrous dates and rejoices over delicious ones." Trixie crafted her hand into an imaginary megaphone. "Will the real Patience Mount please make her presence known?" she asked, in a feigned conductor's voice.

Patsy smiled and nodded. Trixie's head rested on the tall midwife's shoulder. The two women sat in comfortable silence.

"I heard her voice first," said Patsy, at last. "The unusual inflection of her accent; thick yet sweet. It seems almost unbelievable, but I think that's when I knew. That I was falling. And we hadn't even met..."

* * *

 _A/N: I hope Trixie has redeemed herself here, and that Sister Julienne is understandable in her actions (given her position and the era)._


	21. Chapter 21

_We've reached the end. Thankyou to all who stuck with this piece; especially those who reviewed, 'favourited' and followed. And a special thanks to those who repeatedly offered encouragement; I have noticed and appreciated._

 _As always, I'm immensely grateful to Steff for proofreading._

* * *

Patsy placed her hands on Delia's shoulders in an effort to calm her. "What did Sister Julienne say?" asked Delia, shaking off Patsy's heavy limbs.

"Please stop pacing," said Patsy. She sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Delia to join her. Delia chose to wear out the floorboards. "Honestly Deils, it's fine," said Patsy. "It was just a quick word of encouragement. 'You are an exemplary nurse and member of Nonnatus House, Ms Mount,'" Patsy mimicked.

"So we're okay then? It's over?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced Sister Julienne believes the story."

"But it was true. Well, for the most part."

Patsy nodded. "She told me to be careful," she said, arching her brow.

Delia's pace slowed. She faced the redhead.

"And yet here I am," Patsy whispered, her small smile revealing a slight glimpse of shyness. She patted the space beside her.

Delia bit her lip, surveying the spot. "Here you are," she said, relaxing at last.

They hadn't talked like Patsy had anticipated. Delia was bound to query her hesitancy to deny the accusation, Patsy thought. Instead they lay together in the small bed, talking of other things. Delia chatted about her work day; specifically her desperate need to find a cat. "Just for Christmas," she joked. Patsy found the idea of a feline play date with the matron quite amusing. She hypothesised its likely name. It wouldn't be a pretty name, she concluded. Certainly not a Princess or a Mittens. If Patsy didn't think gambling vulgar, she would have bet it bore the namesake of Gertrude Stein. The joke caused a developing bruise on her upper arm; a consequence of a swift punch from the Welsh woman. It was an abrupt end to a mundane discussion, and a start to the rambling of other routine topics. Weekend plans, the name of the song stuck in Patsy's head for the past fortnight. A slow song; female singer. "That narrows it down," Delia laughed.

Delia's body eventually moulded into Patsy's embrace. With Delia's back to the redhead, they lay perfectly intertwined, as if each body had been customised to piece together. Patsy listened to the shallow breathing of her girlfriend; its volume increasing before reaching a steady rhythm of inhales and exhales. She could feel the slow rise and release of Delia's body, as their warm skin made and then broke contact with every catch and release of breath. Patsy knew they could lay like this until early morning. Their cover would be safe, Trixie had promised.

Patsy wasn't sure how long she had lain like this. Wide awake with preoccupation; Delia huddled into the small nook of her curled frame. She heard the first sounds of Delia's slumber when the light of the moon beamed onto the floorboards. It sat, perfectly still, in the space between the window and the bed. Propping herself up, Patsy searched for the warm glow, noting its gradual movement. The translucent light now occupied the foot of the bed. Patsy could distort the glow with the slight shift of her foot. She guessed that the journey had taken an hour, at least. Much of the hour was spent replaying Sister Julienne's words; obsessing if the head nun knew the absolute truth. _"Please be careful; your private lives are none of my concern, but you must give me reason to make it so."_ It seemed to come from insight; knowledge. As if Sister Julienne was aware of the likelihood of more evidence coming to light. The chance finding of the two women in bed as they were now. Or Delia's hand on her arm, perhaps lingering for too long. A stolen kiss under the cloak of dark, exposed by the switch of the light. Patsy thought back to all their purloined moments; it was a miracle rumours were only just surfacing. _But I'm here aren't I?_ she thought. _In bed with my Delia, Trixie to cover should any questions be raised. It's more than we could ever have longed for in the past; save a place of our own._

Patsy's eyes darted from the ceiling to Delia's shoulder blade, poking through the thin cotton of her nightie _. I should tell her,_ she thought, tracing along the sharp bone. _One day soon, I'll hold your hand and speak as loud as my feelings. One day soon we won't hide anymore._ She gathered a lock of Delia's hair and thread it through her fingers. "Deils," she whispered. When the brunette failed to stir, Patsy gathered another strand, tracing it around the shape of Delia's ear. She repeated her girlfriend's name, whispering slightly louder than her first attempt. Delia's light snoring broke, replaced with a mumble. "Are you awake?" whispered Patsy. The Welsh nurse answered in a steady flow of shallow breathing.

Patsy teased Delia's shoulder blade with a chaste kiss. _We can talk tomorrow,_ she concluded. _Or the day after that. Or the day after that._

* * *

Delia sat on the edge of Patsy's bed. "Are you sure we won't be late?"

"I'm positive, Deils," said Patsy, pinching Delia's chin, before noting the dark look in her eyes. Like treacle, but not as sweet, she had thought when first witnessed many years ago. "I'll be ten minutes," Patsy reassured. "Scout's honour."

"I've heard that before, Patience Mount," said Delia, as Patsy gathered her toiletries. "But put you in a front of a mirror with a bottle of lacquer and I'm in for a lonely winter."

"It takes time to look good for my girl," said Patsy, winking. An attempt at turning Delia's treacle laden eyes into honey.

"Well today it's taking nine minutes," warned Delia, "and counting."

Patsy gave a scout's salute, then made her way to the bathroom.

Delia fell back on the bed and groaned. She turned in the direction of the absent bed beside her, glad it was unoccupied. Though Trixie had certainly made gains in her favour, a slight resentment still lingered. Delia was unsure whether she could be in the same room as the blonde without offering a callous, off-hand remark.

Turning again, she heard the muffled sound of paper wrinkling under weight, then felt a slight discomfort against the skin of her neck. Sharp yet smooth. Reaching behind, Delia grasped at the folded parcel of white. Thinking it nothing but a discarded piece of paper; a shopping list perhaps, she did not hesitate in folding open the tight seams. Whatever its contents, it would aid in passing the time.

Once the paper had retained its original shape, Delia could see that what lie within was something more personal than a reminder to buy milk. She recognised the neat writing as belonging to Trixie, though it differed somewhat to her usual style. It appeared rushed, as though the blonde had put thoughts directly to paper without rumination. Though Delia knew she shouldn't, she leaned to her side, her back disguising any sight of her actions from the open door, and read.

* * *

Trixie returned to her seat with two large cups. She assisted a blindfolded Barbara by directing a straw through a part in the brunette's lips.

"This tastes strange," said Barbara, backing away.

"Oh sorry, sweetie. That was my drink." Trixie allowed Barbara access to the second cup.

Barbara released the straw, her mouth thinning. Trixie recognised the expression; the beginning of judgement. Her mother excelled at the practice, particularly when Trixie wore outfits designed for 'easy girls.' "Just straight tonic water for me, I'm afraid," she explained. "Though it's a darn sight better than the pure sugar you're drinking."

"I like sugar."

"And it seems to like you," said Trixie. "Not an inch of excess on those bones."

Barbara smiled, showing her teeth. "You're in a rather good mood, Trixie."

"It's hard to be anything but elated when in the company of masked crusader. Though I imagined it would occur in rather different circumstances."

"I wish you'd allow me to take it off. I'm sure I look quite ridiculous."

"You're certainly no Tyrone Powers," agreed Trixie. "But if you take it off, you'll ruin the surprise."

Barbara searched for the straw; her head bobbed aimlessly. Trixie laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Barbara looked like a toddler waiting for the aeroplane of food to arrive. Trixie assisted Barbara in finding her way. Taking a sip, Barbara leaned back in contemplation. She thought of all the surprises that had occurred in the last twenty four hours. All but one was answered.

"Trixie," said Barbara, looking vaguely in the blonde's direction, but slightly off kilter. "What did you mean by 'I said something I shouldn't have' after your meeting with Sister Julienne?"

Barbara's head hung in the air, waiting for a response. "I'm sure it's none of my business, but you seemed quite unlike yourself."

"I feel like I've not been myself for some time," said Trixie, staring into space. She waited a moment. "Do you know the history of Alcoholics Anonymous, Barbara?" she asked, in such a way to suggest she would answer her own question. "It started as a sort of manifesto. Finding sobriety through truth and The Lord," she continued. "I lied," she confessed, at last. "I said I needed to attend an urgent meeting. Treading on the integrity of AA and a nun in one foul swoop. It's terrific for the conscience."

"We've all lied, Trixie. Every one of us. Even Sister Julienne, I'm sure." Barbara looked quickly to the heavens, sure she could be struck down at any moment. With her eyes blindfolded, she wouldn't even see it coming.

"It's not the lying so much," said Trixie. "If I cannot take the meetings seriously, how can I take my sobriety seriously?"

"But you must take it seriously, Trixie," said Barbara. "What else could explain your anxiety over it?"

Trixie contemplated. Her frowned features still smooth and taut. She wasn't sure she could take Barbara's advice seriously either. The brunette's masked head shifted from side to side, like a curious chicken.

"Permission to address the prisoner, sir?" asked a familiar voice approaching.

Trixie's skin wrinkled around the eyes. Her frown transformed into a bright smile.

"Patsy, is that you?" asked Barbara, turning in the direction of the voice.

"That's guard to you," said Patsy, squeezing the brunette's shoulder.

"And is that Delia laughing? Is that my surprise? How lovely," exclaimed Barbara. "Though I'm not sure the blindfold is completely necessary."

"I suppose I can put you out of your misery," said Trixie, releasing the blindfold. Barbara scanned her surroundings. She sat in a gold rimmed chair at the edge of a grand cinema foyer.

"Trixie, you didn't!" squealed Barbara.

"Just a small token of appreciation." Trixie scrutinised the three women, each looked at her proudly. "Besides, I really must see what happens to that poor mockingbird," she added, uncharacteristically ill at ease with the attention.

Barbara squeezed Trixie's hand, then spotted a figure approaching.

"Hello again, Barbara."

"Lara?"

Patsy recalled the name, but she couldn't quite place the well-dressed blonde walking toward her. She turned to Delia, 'who?' she mouthed. Delia nodded her head in Barbara's direction, then winked. "Oh," said Patsy, loudly; suggestively. The women looked to her; their mouths opened slightly, eyebrows raised. Delia leaned into Patsy's shoulder, stifling her laughter. "Rheumatism," explained Patsy, nudging Delia from her shoulder.

"How on earth have we managed this?" laughed Barbara, turning to her new friend. She was sure that a divine occurrence had taken place in East London yet again. She looked to Lara's hands, in case the blonde was holding the elusive pantihose she had asked of The Lord. She wasn't, but that was okay, she thought. The day was already perfect.

"I think you'll find dear Trixie here managed the surprise," said Lara.

"Turns out," said Trixie, "there's quite a few Laras, last name unknown, in the greater London School District. Some not so pleasant, I might add."

Barbara excitedly introduced the teacher to Patsy and Delia.

"Do you have a cat?" asked Delia, once pleasantries concluded.

Trixie gasped. "Delia," she exclaimed. "That really is an awful cliché." She shook her head dismissively. "Honestly," she muttered.

"It's merely a work related question," explained Delia, crossing her arms.

Lara laughed. "You're in luck. I'm the proud owner of a mischievous little tabby."

"Boy or girl?" Delia asked, narrowing her eyes.

Lara mimicked Delia's stance. Her mouth curved slightly. "No boys in my house," she said.

Delia nodded slowly. "We'll talk."

The sound of organ music forced the women to take their seats. As soon as she sat, Barbara felt an odd sensation pressing into the side of her hip. She reached just below the arm, into the deep crevasse of the seat. She grasped at the object, soft and malleable in her hand. Pulling it toward her, her eyes widened in horror. Dangling from her hand was a pair of used pantihose, likely hastily discarded in an amorous moment between two lovers. She hurriedly placed the pantihose back into its hiding place. My fault Lord, she communicated internally, I should have clarified my desire for _new_ pantihose.

Barbara's panicked hiding of undergarments was not missed by Trixie. She swallowed her laughter. If she wasn't on her best behaviour she would have made a joke. Lara should be careful, she thought. Barbara evidently had a gift for making ladies drop their delicates.

Trixie turned toward Patsy and Delia; an effort to hide her amusement. The abrupt awareness of her positioning between the two 'couples' wiped the smile from her face. She sighed inwardly. She suddenly felt like a little sister, tagging along on her babysitter's date. Perhaps I should stick my head in a bucket of popcorn and call it a night, she thought, watching the blackened screen. She felt a dull nudge to the ribs. She turned to see Delia grinning before her. For how long Delia held her gaze, Trixie wasn't sure. "You're a good friend," said Delia, nodding in sincerity.

Trixie twitched slightly at the mouth. A half-hearted acknowledgment of something she didn't quite believe. She looked past the Welsh midwife to Patsy beside her. They were holding hands, openly and proudly. Patsy followed the direction of Trixie's stare, to her hand entwined with Delia's. She noticed Trixie's mouth elevate; the appearance of a forlorn smile. Catching the blonde's eye, they stared into each other for a moment. A stand-off completely at odds with the one previously held in the back alley of Gateways. Patsy broke first, her mouth widening to its full capacity.

"I'm only as good as the friends I have," said Trixie, smiling in return.


End file.
